Destiny Denied
by TheMochaBitcas
Summary: *Chapt. 7 added* AU. Everyone has a destiny and a changing of the guard causes history to be rewritten and proves that, in the end, no one can alter what is destined.
1. One

Destiny Denied By Specks, Nina, and Ky   
  
Rating: This chapter is PG-13 (for language) but there will, Ky hastens to assure, be NC-17 in upcoming (and clearly labeled) sections.  
Summary: AU, folks... Everyone has a destiny, even though Buffy and Angel have long been denied theirs. A changing of the guard causes history to be rewritten and proves that, in the end, no one (yes, Joss and Marti, we're looking at you!) can alter what is destined to come to pass...  
Spoilers: This *is* AU, but in this chapter (one) we'll be making mention of events from AtS season 3 (Namely "Tomorrow," even if it's only to open mock them) and BtVS Seasons 1 and 2, up to and including Becoming I and II.  
Disclaimers: Brace yourselves, folks, this may come as a shock to some of you: We are *not* Marti or Joss or David Greenwalt. As a matter of fact, we're not any one(three) in any way involved with the shows, the networks, the production companies, the actors, their agents... yada, yada, yada. We're just some B/A fans, having a little fun with these characters while their owners are off making money with them.  
Authors Notes 1: Well, we'd like to thank each other. ::g:: For the sharing of ideas, the encouragement, the beta, the good-natured nagging, and all those *productive* and entertaining chats. We'd like to thank our therapists (read: significant others), who made functioning while trying to combine the wildly divergent ideas of three vastly different people in different states and time zones a possibility. ;o) Specks would like to thank her dialogue guru, who remains shrouded in mystery and wrapped in an enigma, Nina would like to thank everyone who's graciously offered to assist in the search for her missing muse, and Ky would like to thank everyone who's written fic or sent emails that have kept Specks and Nina busy enough to keep from bombarding her with rambling emails on strange tangents, never mind those pesky sines and cosines...  
  
Of course, we sincerely want to thank everyone who's read and encouraged any of our other stories.  
  
(We promise: they're just on hold, not abandoned!!!)  
  
Um, we also feel compelled to thank anyone who's made it past all the notes and to the actual story (Look down! You've made it! You're there!)   
  
The sun hung low on the horizon as Whistler sipped his Corona with lime. Back and forth, back and forth, his eyes followed the path of the volleyball as it arced through the air, batted from one side of the net to the other by opposing teams of scantily clad models. Thoroughly enjoying his role as spectator, he drank in the sight of hard, glistening, exposed bodies, twisting and exerting themselves as they attempted to best each other. Settling comfortably back on the lounge he was occupying, he heaved a contented sigh, closed his eyes and tilted his face up to warming rays of the sun with a small smile. "Mr. Whistler," a deep, rich male voice called his name. With a confused frown tugging at the corners of his mouth, he opened his eyes and noticed an Adonis-like man standing in front of him with a clipboard. 'What happened to the beach? Where are the chicks?' Studying his surroundings, he remembered: The Main Office! He was sitting in the waiting area's plush, purple velvet chair. The highly polished marble floors gleamed with such intensity, he was getting a migraine. With a groan, he glanced at his watch. It had been two decades! Jesus H. Christ! He was SUPPOSED to be on vacation, but no. He was called into the Main Office for a "special assignment." Fucking PTBs always messing up his life. Case in point: his uniform. What asshole thought it was a good idea to dress the PTBs' emissaries up like pimps from Jersey? And, let's face it: half demons that look like pimps from Jersey have a hard time getting laid in *every* dimension. Speaking of which, it had been TWO whole decades! His whole existence seemed like one big cosmic joke... "Mr Whistler?" The man, dressed in tight leather pants and a burgundy velvet shirt that was un-buttoned to expose the smooth, well-muscled chest underneath, looked at him with concern. "The goddess is ready to see you now."  
  
'A secretary?' he wondered idly, 'since when are the secretaries up here male?' The towering man motioned at Whistler to follow him into the inner sanctuaries. The short half-demon stood and removed his lime green hat before entering the twenty-foot tall, cherry, french-doors. He fussed with his pants, trying to smooth out a few decades worth of wrinkles, then gave up and followed the secretary inside. He'd never been this deep inside the Main Office before and was astounded by the opulence. Their shoes clicked loudly on the beautiful earthy-toned marble that covered the floors, walls and ceiling of the seemingly endless hall they walked through. The hallway twisted and turned until it opened up, about 15 minutes later, into a spa-like area complete with a bubbling Jacuzzi tub that was as large as an Olympic sized pool. Beside the Jacuzzi, sprawled on a crème color cashmere chaise, emitting a faint white glow and attended to by a dozen gorgeous men of different size, race and coloring, was a perfectly coiffed female. Her chin-length blond hair looked somewhat off with her dark brown eyes and tanned skin. Still, damp from her recent foray in the Jacuzzi and clothed in a tiny silk robe that clung to her wet curves, she was a vision of eroticism... until she opened her mouth. "WHERE have you BEEN?" The demon clutched his lime green hat and gaped at the deity before him. "Cordelia, what the hell do you want this time?" Not in the least surprised by the outburst, Cordelia merely raised an eyebrow in response. The blond haired, nerdy little half demon muttered curses to himself as he threw his hat on the floor. He really didn't care if she sent him to hell, hell had to be better than working for these God Damn people... "YOU!! You called ME here?" he sputtered, still trying to process the idea that Cordelia Chase had somehow been elevated to a higher being. It wasn't a recent development by any means, but every time he was confronted with the fact, he realized the world as he knew it had tilted sharply, taken a turn for the bizarre. and the more he thought about it the angrier he became. "I've been sitting in your freaking lobby for twenty years waiting for your ROYAL highness! Whatever the hell you called me up here for, forget it. I'm taking my vacation!" "Now, now, my little fashion victim," the glowing girl mocked as she accepted a steaming cup from one of her attendants, "Don't get all growly. There's important work to be done and I've decided you're just the demon for the job," she smiled broadly as she took a sip from the cup in her hand. "I'll get to it as soon as I get back..." "NO. You'll get to it now." The little man tightened his grip on the brim of his hat, trying to control his anger. "Look, I've been on the job, pretty much non-stop, for close to two thousand years. I'm about to burn out. I need a break!" "What you NEED is NOT piss me off," the dark eyed beauty spat. "The Powers have big plans and we need you to contact the Slayer." As the little demon bolted towards the door, she trailed off, amused. Quirking an eyebrow, she watched him tug futilely on the door, "And just what do you think you're doing?" "Leaving. I told you the last time. I'm not helping any more Slayers! You know what happened with the last one."  
  
"That? Pffft," she waved a hand dismissively, "that was nothing. And, don't worry, we're not asking you to help anymore Slayers." "Nothing?" he grumbled. "It wasn't your ribcage she threatened to tear out so you could wear it as a hat, now was it?" "Please, like that's the worst thing she could have said. I know what you were wearing at the time, little man, she had so much to work with." Still tugging at the door, he was dismayed to find it wouldn't budge. Whirling around to face the smirking brunette, he demanded, "Let me out, Cordelia! Open the damn door!" "Who is the Higher Being here? You or me?" Swallowing back a scathing remark, he answered: "You are." "OK then, lose the attitude mister. Hell really is worse than the elevator music in my waiting room, and I have no qualms about sending you there... Now, about that job." Cutting her off, he crossed his arms resolutely, "I'll only do it on one condition: no more Slayers. The last one left a lasting impression. None of them like demons and they like to slay first, ask questions later. That one even has a half-demon in her little group and she still." "She didn't know he was a half-demon, Whistler. Oh Gods. You didn't open your big mouth did you?" "What? No! There wasn't much in the way of chatting; she threatened, I gave her the information and split." "Well," dubiously, she glanced at his face, looking for any signs of deceit. "That's good. I guess. I know you'd hate to have to go back and do that over. Bending time is such a chore, after all." "I'll have you know I've *never* had to go back and do it over. I get things right the first time. Always," he declared, his expression daring her to challenge his claim. Seeing an opening, she quickly agreed, "You always get things right. Which is why you were chosen to do this, and do this you will." Trying to ignore the knot forming in the pit of his stomach, he narrowed his eyes and demanded, "And you *swear* I won't have to deal with any more Slayers?" Her smile growing, she made an 'x' over the left side of her chest, "Cross my heart." With a muffled groan, he followed her to a seat and focused on her plan.  
  
*** "You want me to what?!" "Calm down, Whistler. You dare shout at one of the Powers?"  
  
"Don't try to get righteous on me now, Cordelia. You *lied* to me! I'm not listening to anything else," he bolted out of his chair, but found himself rooted to the spot as she rose regally and towered over him with a wicked smirk gracing her features. "I *never* lied," she asserted. "I never lie." "You said I wouldn't have to deal with the Slayer and now you're telling me different. I know where you come from it's all a little murky with the ethics and morals, but that's a LIE," he raged. "L.A. is hardly *that* bad. And, for the record, I said you wouldn't have to work with "any more" Slayers," she clarified, "and you don't. It's still the same one. No more, I promise." "I think you missed the spirit of my objection, girlie." "And I think *you* missed the part where you don't really have a choice in the matter, Whistler. You work for *me*, you go where I tell you, when I tell you." "I'll go over your head," he threatened. "I'll talk directly to the PTB!" "Little man," she shook her head in mock sympathy, "You actually believe the Powers don't know about this already? That they'd help you? A lower being? You're not even a warrior," she said derisively. "No, but I am the demon of destiny, and I know that this," he gestured dismissively at the flowchart on which she'd outlined his grand 'mission', "this isn't theirs. Even you and the Powers can't change their fate, Princess," he mocked. Scowling, the enraged deity lifted a finger and pointed it directly at Whistler, unleashing a flaming fireball. Still rooted to the spot and unable to run or perform any evasive maneuvers, Whistler only had time to shield his head before he was encompassed in blinding white light. Quickly the blinding white faded to total darkness as he lost consciousness.  
  
Coming to later, Whistler found himself outside of the post office. Standing up and brushing himself off, he nearly jumped when an enormous suitcase appeared mid air. It landed by his feet, and opened on contact. Nestled inside were an Armani suit, several polo shirts and some dress pants. Also contained within the suitcase was a note from Cordelia: Dress well. How do you expect people to treat you seriously when you look like you stepped out of an eighties TV show?! Miami Vice was cancelled decades ago! So dress the part, finish this job, and I'll see about your vacation. 


	2. More Delusions

Title: Destiny Denied, Chapter Two of ???  
  
Author(s): Specks, Nina, and Ky   
  
Rating: This chapter is PG-13 (for language) but there will, Ky hastens to assure, be NC-17 in upcoming (and clearly labeled) sections.  
  
Summary: AU, folks... Everyone has a destiny, even though Buffy and Angel have long been denied theirs. A changing of the guard causes history to be rewritten and proves that, in the end, no one (yes, Joss and Marti, we're looking at you!) can alter what is destined to come to pass...  
  
Spoilers: This *is* AU, but in this chapter (two) we'll be making mention of events from AtS seasons 2 (Judgment) & 3 (Tomorrow, and again with the mocking) and all the BtVS Seasons, primarily the episodes Passion, Graduation Day Part II, The Gift, Surprise.  
  
Disclaimers: Brace yourselves, folks, this may come as a shock to some of you: We are *not* Marti or Joss or David Greenwalt. As a matter of fact, we're not any one(three) in any way involved with the shows, the networks, the production companies, the actors, their agents... yada, yada, yada. We're just some B/A fans, having a little fun with these characters while their owners are off making money with them.  
  
Authors Notes:   
  
Ky, champion of The Female Eunuch, our very own proponent of sexually liberating the masses, one lewd public act at a time, would like to thank the tall, dark, handsome man (who jogs past her place of work everyday as she walks inside) for not wearing a shirt last week. Please, keep up the good work!  
  
Nina, gimpy painter of the caves, would like to thank Willis Haviland Carrier for making the summer bearable and B for being there, even after the stars went blue.  
  
Specks, she of the many mini plaques would like to thank the penguin who's ill tempered prompting has encouraged her muse to return, however sporadically; her dialogue guru, who did absolutely nothing for this chapter and therefore should be thanked for not interfering, and C for being annoyingly wicked and therefore greatly inspiring. :) Collectively, of course, we'd like to sincerely thank everyone who's read and encouraged any of our other stories, (which we promise are just on hold, not abandoned!!!) and we'd like to send a big thank you to all the wonderful people who sent feedback and/or threats after the posting of the first chapter! =o)  
  
Um, we also feel compelled, again, to thank anyone who's made it past all the notes and to the actual story (Look down! You've made it! You're there!) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Rereading the memo in his hand, Whistler scowled.   
  
"Screw this," he muttered, tossing the note aside. "I won't do it... I don't care what she says; the Powers can't possibly condone this."   
  
But even as he said the words, he began to doubt them. In the past few years, the Powers had become increasingly erratic- permitting their warriors to suffer unnecessarily. Despite the fact that they were clearly stronger together, the PTBs allowed their primary warriors to be parted by a curse that should never have existed. Since the separation, both had strayed from the path they were meant to travel, denying their joint destiny and jeopardizing the fate of the world.   
  
Through it all, the Powers had remained characteristically aloof, honoring an ancient pact with the darker sides and not intervening directly. Though he'd never understood *that* particular deal, Whistler did understand the need to honor one's word. Of course, he knew the other side frequently failed to keep their end of the bargain. Recently they unleashed a hell god on Sunnydale, ultimately leading to the death of the Slayer, and they resurrected the dead, or the undead, depending on how you wanted to look at it. In either case, the 'rebirth' of Darla had started a downward spiral for the souled vampire that didn't seem to have an end.  
  
Whistler had been keeping tabs on both the Slayer and the souled vampire, waiting for the order to step in, to intercede on their behalf. But the order hadn't come. To his great frustration, even with both their Warriors in peril, the Powers had seemed to turn a blind eye. He'd become increasingly dissatisfied but had kept silent. For a few precious moments there in the opulence of the Main Office, he'd thought the time had come to set things right...   
  
Then he'd seen Cordelia and reality had set in.   
  
If Cordelia were to be believed, instead of putting things right, he was expected to give the relationship between slayer and vampire the deathblow.  
  
Glancing back down at the note, he scowled again and shook his head, the PTBs had to be out of their minds. Expecting him to tell Angel to never contact Buffy again? Weren't they supposed to fight together during the End of Days? Were they trying to lose? What the fuck were they up to?   
  
Something had to be done about this, the question was what?  
  
***  
  
Pausing in the entryway, the svelte strawberry blonde surveyed the scene before her.   
  
The room was large, airy, three of it's walls painted in subtle, earthy hues that lent warmth and seemed to glow, reflecting the light pouring in through the fourth, west-facing glass wall and the enormous skylight overhead. Plush cream-colored carpet stretched wall to wall, a striking contrast to the dark furnishings in the room. In the center of the room, two overstuffed slate couches were arranged, facing each over a long, low coffee table. Comfortable lounge chairs were arranged on the remaining sides of the coffee table and enormous pillows were scattered haphazardly throughout the room.   
  
On one of the lounge chairs, sipping from a tall glass, sat the youngest of her siblings. With her head bent as she peered at the glossy pages of a magazine, her long dark locks, streaked with varying shades of blue, obscured the younger goddess' facial features.  
  
Beyond the furnishings, near the floor to ceiling wall of glass that faced the western sky, lay her other sister. Soaking up the sun like a cat, to the casual observer, she could have been sleeping. Lying on her back with her feet propped up on a stack of pillows, her waist length red hair splayed out around her, and her arms stretched out, palms up, to either side of her, only the slight rhythmic tapping of her feet gave her away.  
  
She studied them for a few moments before strolling nonchalantly into the cozy sitting room and plopping down on the remaining pillowy lounger. Swinging her legs carelessly over the arm of the chair, the elegant 'woman' made herself at home before turning her attention again to her younger siblings.  
  
Flashing a wicked grin, she spoke, "Did ya miss me?"  
  
Her only answer came in the form of an inelegant snort from the floor near the western wall.  
  
Arching a perfectly formed brow, she smirked widely, "REALLY, Demetria. how rude."  
  
Stretching slowly, the red head sat up and stared at her older sister, green eyes locking with gray for a long moment before she spoke, "Rude, was I?"  
  
"Isn't that what I just said?"  
  
Keeping a straight face, Demetria spoke again, the only indication of her mirth the slight change, as her green eyes shifted to gold, "Am I supposed to care what you think?"  
  
Settling easily into the familiar game, the eldest gave a manic grin, "Weren't you ever taught to respect your elders?"   
  
Groaning inwardly at her sisters' antics, Eir threw down the magazine she'd been reading. She hated this little question game they so frequently engaged in. The two would banter back and forth, one question after another, until she was left clinging to shreds of her sanity. She knew she had to intercede before things got too far; once they were really into it, it was hard to break them out of their silliness.  
  
Sweeping a lock of hair from her eyes impatiently, she glared at Demetria before leveling fuming dark eyes on her other sister and asking a question she was sure she didn't want to know the answer to, "Where on earth have you been, Coeur?"  
  
Arching an eyebrow, Coeur retorted, "Not earth, little sister. The Main Office."  
  
"The Main Office?" Eir asked in confusion- Coeur's least favorite place was work, "What were you doing there?"  
  
"Oh, you know, sightseeing."  
  
"Sightseeing? At the office?" Eir's brow wrinkled in confusion. Sightseeing? What was there to see? The main office was a white and bright place full of well.nothing. At least it was the last time she'd been there.  
  
"Oh! So it's true," Demetria giggled as she made her way over the couch.  
  
"Oh yeah, it's definitely true," Coeur remarked with a devilish nod. "Thanks to some poor decision making on the part of the Powers, the Main Office is now your one stop eye candy shop."  
  
Eir studied her sister's face dubiously, "Really?"  
  
"Uh huh. Seems the newest ascendant has a thing for half naked men waiting on her hand and foot," Coeur snarked. Seeing the incredulous looks directed at her, she hastily amended, "Yeah, yeah. Pot, kettle and all that. But, really, you should hear what else is going on there."   
  
"Like what?" asked Eir, intrigued in spite of herself.  
  
Coeur gave her sisters an anticipatory grin. Dishing out juicy gossip was one of her favorite pastimes, and now that she had both her usually distracted sisters' undivided attention, she savored it all the more.   
  
"First of all, it seems our favorite slayer and vampire have been apart for three Earth years."  
  
"WHAT!!!" Cried Demetria alarmed. As the goddess of Justice it deeply offended her sensibilities when two warriors so obviously deserving of happiness were slighted. It went against the grain and it was just. WRONG.   
  
"Not possible. The Powers could NOT have possibly let them stray so far from their destiny! That's just against company policy!" De sputtered uncharacteristically.  
  
"That's not all," said Coeur, warming to her tale, " it seems they actually tried to put Angel with Cordelia!"  
  
"No!" gasped Eir.  
  
"Yes," returned Coeur in disgust.  
  
"But.but.." Eir stuttered at a loss for words.  
  
"That's not possible! The Powers can't be *that* idiotic!" blurted Demetria, finishing Eir's train of thought.  
  
"Oh yeah?" challenged Coeur, "See for yourself!"  
  
With that the goddess of love transported them to the Western wall of their villa. Planting them directly in front of the scrying glass embedded in the wall, she waved her hand, bringing forth images of the last three years.  
  
Demetria and Eir watched, horrified and indignant at the injustices dealt to their two favorite warriors. Angel had left Buffy in a misguided attempt to give her what she deserved. Buffy had died, and Angel, because of his sire, had been reduced to a mere shell of the true warrior he once was. As the minutes dragged on, it became clear to all three present that some drastic action had to be taken to salvage the disaster. For a moment silence reigned as the last of the images came to past.  
  
"WHAT THE FUCK?" Eir, the most explosive of the three roared.  
  
Coeur rolled her eyes, "Exactly."  
  
Demetria nodded grimly, echoing the sentiment of her two sisters and added, "I think its time those incompetent idiots were replaced."  
  
Blue fire danced on the Goddess of Justice's fingertips, and every now and then the flames crackled restlessly, wordlessly expressing her anger and outrage.  
  
"You're serious?" asked Eir in disbelief. As the goddess of War and Chaos she tended to kill first, ask questions later, while Demetria always wanted to hear everyone's side of the story. Now that her elder sister was ready to kick some ass, she wanted to get started before she changed her mind.  
  
"Dead, serious," replied Demetria, for once completely condoning her younger sister's penchant towards violence.  
  
Seeing the determined look on both her sisters, Coeur flashed a wicked grin, "Looks like a coup is in order."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
TBC...  
  
Feedback us here.  
  
Finally, today we'd like to offer our apologies to the following people and groups who may have been offended by parts of this chapter:  
  
Pimps from New Jersey, people tasteless enough to dress like pimps from New Jersey, sexist men in general, men with no sexual expertise, men with no knowledge of the clit in particular, anyone thinking of Kevin Smith (the director) right now, eunuchs, in general, because they get a raw deal, and anyone who may have been offended by these apologies... ;o)  
  
We're sorry... so sorry. Please accept our apologies...  
  
(A yummy cyber cookie to anyone who can figure out who wrote which parts of the author's notes and apologies... ::g::) 


	3. Three

Authors Notes: Ky would like to thank her sisters in crime, De… er, Nina and Specks for their infinite patience and understanding while delving into the creative process. She is also still thankful for the hot man who jogs past her office. God must be a woman… Specks, the best little Mini ever, would like to thank the penguin who's ill tempered prompting has encouraged her muse to return, however sporadically; her dialogue guru, who continues to be an enigma, and C for being annoyingly wicked and therefore greatly inspiring. :) And Nina merely wishes to thank Murphy for laying down the law...

Collectively, we again sincerely thank everyone who's read and encouraged our lunacy on this little project and any of our other (on hold and not abandoned) stories. =o)

**OUR APOLOGIES (IN ADVANCE):**  
We are sorry if anyone with a stuffy, archaic, patriarchal view of the Deity was offended by our matriarchal portrayal of the ancient symbol of the trinity. We're also sorry if the above apology offended anyone who is stuffy, archaic and patriarchal- ya' know all you republicans… And finally, we apologize to all republicans who are intimidated by strong women… Nina… does that about cover it? What do you mean you aren't going to let me do the apologies anymore? It's my lapto….  
  
Erm. Because of libel laws, Ky will no longer be participating in the apology part of this story. Specks and I apologize for the above apology and would like to present Part 3 of Destiny Denied without any further ado. 

*************************************************************************

Through the misty twilight between worlds, three Goddesses strode into view, their forms transforming from mere silhouettes on the horizon to a breath-taking portrait of beauty and power. Eir was the first fully visible, her sinewy limbs akimbo as she tried to get the other two to pick up the pace. Rolling her black eyes towards the sky in annoyance, she turned and waited. She tapped a high-heeled leather boot impatiently, pushed a stray strand of blue hair out of her face and peered over her black specks as her "elders" came into view. With one hand on a well-muscled, leather-clad hip, she groaned as she overheard the topic of conversation.  
  
"After last night I've had it!" the enraged blond growled, stopping abruptly as unexpected inspiration hit, "I'll write a book! I'll make a mandatory decree that they memorize it once they hit puberty. This won't be some watered down "The Idiots Guide to the Clitoris", boys and girls. No, Sir! There will be written and visual directions, maybe a pie graph…"  
  
Eir threw her hands out, palms up to De, pleading to her with her eyes as they came into sight. The diminutive, middle sister shrugged her shoulders mouthing the words, "What can I do?" At that Eir threw one of her ruby encrusted, ceremonial daggers to the ground in frustration, and crossed her arms while blowing her hair out of her face in disgust.   
  
Demetria had never allowed Coeur to rampage this long about men before; she'd always found a way to sidetrack their eldest's sex depraved mind. So far, De hadn't said a word to end this tirade about Coeur's latest date's, and males' in general, lack of knowledge concerning the female orgasm… And it had been the theme for the entire trip!  
  
Personally, Eir didn't know what all of the fuss was about. As far as she was concerned, violence was as good as sex, and she was ready to get to it!  
  
"Coeur, I think mankind is better served if they find out what their partners needs are by listening to them, not through a guide to the female orgasm."  
  
Eir's head swiveled towards De in shock, "What are you doing? Just nod your head in agreement so we can get there sometime THIS century!"  
  
"Yes Coeur," Eir demonstrated in a patronizing manner while retrieving her knife, "When you get home, you should write a book. Great idea. Now, can you keep your libido in check long enough to usurp Ssoj and Itram?"  
  
Coeur ignored her temperamental younger sister's out burst as she ran a hand through her tousled strawberry blond hair, and focused her attention on De. "I cannot believe you'd say that after the experience you had with…"  
  
Demetria held up a hand as if she were a cop signaling traffic, "Stop right there. We are NOT bringing up my sex life…"  
  
For a moment Eir wondered why the cosmos had stuck her with these two. Here she was all ready to pull a coup and they were talking about sex! Now was NOT the time for this discussion.   
  
With a dramatic sigh, Eir vowed to ignore her sisters from now on and continued her ascent to the PTBs' palace. She glided up stone stairs and hid behind one of the many ivory, Grecian columns that marked the entrance and surveyed the opposition.   
  
Two familiar looking bouncers guarded the highly polished marble arch of the entrance to the inner sanctum. In fact, she was sure she'd seem them earlier while scrying- they had been with Buffy.   
  
The taller one held himself stiffly at attention, tazer in hand- beady blue eyes ineffectively scanning the entry. The other, a peroxide blond, leaned against the door while taking a long drag of his cigarette, his tazer thrown casually beside him. Eir snorted derisively at Ssoj's and Itram's lax choice in protection, whatever happened to standards? Where was the Angel of Death with her fiery sword? Hell, even an ogre would have been nice. With a sigh at the Power's additional display of idiocy, Eir waved violently for her counterparts to move in.  
  
"Should have guessed Itram would have THOSE two up here somewhere…" De hissed as she knelt by Eir's side  
  
"Spike and Riley," Coeur giggled softly, her mood suddenly fluctuating as she saw the guards, "I will take this opportunity to prove my point."  
  
The blond unbuttoned her blouse almost to her navel, fluffed her hair and strode to the entrance hall.  
  
"What is she doing?" the blue haired sister hissed.  
  
Demetria giggled, "She's going for it."  
  
"Thanks for the update, little Miss 'States the Obvious'." Eir groaned as she watched the Drama Queen take action.  
  
The younger demi-Goddesses, one highly amused and the other plain annoyed, watched Coeur walk up to the bouncers. With the tight leather pants and the see-through shirt, little of her physique was left to the guards' imagination as she stormed the gate.  
  
"Excuse me," she hesitated demurely, "I hate to bother such big, important men as you, but would you happen to know where to find and how to stimulate the clitoris."  
  
"T-t-t-he… c-c-c-c-…?" Captain Cardboard stuttered as he grasped his tazer so hard, it's plastic case cracked from the pressure.  
  
"Hell, you can't even say it let alone find it," she snorted.  
  
Demetria covered her eyes with perfectly manicured hands gasping as she tried to suppress a fit of laughter, "I can't stand this, would you kill them already?"  
  
Eir rolled her thickly lashed, opaque eyes and put a finger to her lips to order silence. Coeur was doing a surprisingly good job of distracting their opponents. The tall one's face had turned the color of a ripe tomato, while the short anorexic looking guard stupidly leered at the Goddess of Lust while sucking in his cheekbones. Neither of them noticed her as she left the hiding spot and sidled up behind them, pulling her dagger from its sheath.  
  
"Sounds like you're sexually frustrated luv', I could help you with that," Spike alleged with a throaty growl.  
  
"That's what they all say," Coeur snapped, nodding to Eir as she swiftly grasped Spike around the head. The horny vampire didn't have a chance to react as she ripped his bleached noggin from his body.  
  
Before the dust hit the ground Eir was on top of Riley, burying her dagger in the back of his neck. The point of the her long, sharp instrument of death protruded from the front of Riley's bobbing Adam's apple as the soldier gurgled, struggling for breath. He wildly reached behind him, trying to remove the dagger… but to no avail. He fell on his face and began helplessly twitching at Coeur's feet.  
  
"I told you men need a book," she grumbled as he lay dying. The blond tried to side step the thick crimson liquid oozing from his fatal wounds but it seemed to be every where. She was soo gonna kill Eir if the bloodstains became permanent. Why was it she always had to make her kills so messy?  
  
"Could you for once wait until I get out of the way? I just got these shoes!" she howled as Demetria approached the gate.   
  
De let out a long asthmatic sigh as she placed her hands on her curvy hips in exasperation, "Could you BE any louder? This is a sneak attack!"  
  
"Look, at these shoes! You could have pushed him the other way," she groaned as she bent over trying in vain to brush the liquid off, in effect smearing the blood into the brown leather making it look worse.  
  
"Lay off Eir, she was only helping…"  
  
The blond glared up at the middle sister in annoyance, "You always take her side."  
  
"I do not, I'm a very impartial… hey, where'd she go," Demetria exclaimed glancing around the entry way for the violent little spit-fire… she was no where to be found.  
  
"Holy Mother, she went in with out us!"  
  
Demetria glowered at Coeur as she grabbed her arm and turned, running to catch up. Her red hair was a streamer of silk as she moved like the wind past the gate and into the PTBs private chambers. She passed white Grecian columns, azure pools and tropical gardens as she dragged Coeur along to catch up with their task-oriented sister. Finally, they came upon the bedrooms of Ssoj and Itram where Eir had already begun the ritual needed for the coup. Placing a lit red candle in front of Ssoj's chamber and a lit white one in front of Itram's, she waited impatiently for her sisters to get there.   
  
'Finally!' thought Eir as her sisters joined her.   
  
Each goddess grasped the forearm on either side, beginning the invocation of their triangle of power. Together in flawless unison they spoke, "Assist us to erect the ancient altar, at which in days past all worshipped; The great altar of all things, for in old time, Triad was the altar and the Triad was a sacred thing."  
  
Coeur smiled fondly at her family as she cried out, "I, Goddess of Love and Lust, Coeur kindle this fire today, in presence of the Holy Ones we come to take their place. Without malice, fear or envy, but to set right what the High Gods have made wrong, we have come to conquer the dark."  
  
Eir's voice roared as she exclaimed, "I, Goddess of War and Chaos, Eir call ye forth, work ye unto our desire, hearken ye unto our word! Powers of the blade waken all ye into life, come the charm is made."  
  
Demetria gave her usual sly grin and carefully recited, "I, Goddess of Justice and Healing, Demetria invoke the Circle of Stars to marvel beyond imagination, soul of infinite space before whom these *pathetic* Powers That Be are ashamed, bewildered and their understanding dark let them return to what they once were so we may begin again anew."  
  
Together they cried, "Let the Triad become!"  
  
A burst of power flashed from the current PTB's rooms and into the three demi-goddesses. Their bodies glowed like flame as whirlwinds of fire lifted them from the floor, swirling and pulsing until the power entered them completely. The flames of the pillar candles went out abruptly as a series of screeches came from the bedchambers.   
  
The three floated gently to the floor and Demetria shot her sisters her leprechaun-like grin, "I think it worked!"  
  
"Well, let's just take a look, shall we," Coeur smirked as she made her way to the door of Itram's room and opened it a crack to peer cautiously inside. "Oh my…"  
  
"What 'oh my'? How bad can it be," Eir demanded as she strode to the door and looked inside. "Oh my… And just…"  
  
"Eww!" Coeur and Eir exclaimed together, both wrinkling their noses in disgust.   
  
"Oh, for the love of Pete," De griped at her siblings, moving behind them to examine the view inside, "We all knew they'd end up changing since part of the spell would make them revert to the form most closely matching their current spiritual levels…"   
  
Trailing off as she finally caught a glimpse of the newly deposed Power, she chuckled at the sight of the short, furry body in the center of the room and was graced in return with a huge, toothy smile from Itram.   
  
"Aww… See, she's-EWW!" De gasped as she watched Itram pick up a pile from the floor and sling it at the wall near the door. "That's just disgusting."  
  
"Yeah, but somehow, fitting." Coeur commented casually, causing Eir to giggle.   
  
Just then, the three were shoved aside as Ssoj barreled into the room, waddling over to his partner in crime. Immediately Itram began to comb through Sssoj's hair for lice as the Triad collapsed to the floor in giggles.   
  
"Well, at least they're still primates," Eir snarked as Itram found what she was looking for and ate it. The two monkeys joined hands as Coeur led them to their new home, Sunnydale's Zoo.  
  
* * *  
  
It didn't take long for the three goddesses get all of their stuff moved in. It came in handy being a PTB, all of their friends suddenly didn't mind helping out on moving day. The three were in the middle of a disagreement about where to put one of their precious slate colored couches when a furious pounding rattled the gates.  
  
"Did you order another pizza?" Demetria asked.  
  
"This is the second one today, Coeur! And we need to start interviews for a new Angel of Death to guard the gate- pizza delivery boys should not be getting this far into our private chambers…"  
  
"Hey, the pizza delivery boy is hot," Coeur pointed out as she opened the gate and stood in the way of her sister's line of sight, "Umm... do you have an appointment?"  
  
Eir and De glanced towards the door in confusion at their sister's words.  
  
"I don't have time for any fuckin' appointment! I came here to resign!"  
  
A short, unhappy, Demon of Destiny brushed past Coeur as he took off his hat and glanced around. A quizzical expression passed over his malleable features as he turned towards the two other Goddesses.  
  
"Where are Ssoj and Itram?"  
  
"Sunnydale Zoo," Coeur answered cryptically, "Where you might end up if you don't apologize for your rude entrance."  
  
"Sunnydale..." an expression of delight spread across his face, "You three pulled a Coup! About damn time," the little demon with a Jersey accent crowed.  
  
Eir grinned back, already liking the short funny looking demon, "I agree, should have done it back in 1996, before things got out of hand..."  
  
"Tell me about it, and that fuck up with the bliss clause and the curse..."  
  
"Ms. Calender..." De added.  
  
"Sending Angel to hell, Angel leaving, Buffy dying AGAIN…" Eir ranted.  
  
"The therapy-inducing sex-capades with Spike, poor Willow, and Cordelia," Coeur grumbled.  
  
Silence spread through the room as the heartache, pain and nausea the last PTBs had inflicted on the world overwhelmed them.   
  
"Speaking of Cordelia…" the Demon of Destiny piped up.  
  
"Yeah?" the three answered in unison.  
  
"Yeah, the last two PTBs just had the broad ascend to become a Higher Power..."  
  
The three goddesses listened in horror as he related his mistreatment at the hands of his new boss.  
  
"I promise I won't quit and I'll get things straight with those two- just get that broad off my back! I can't work with her sending me out to get her a Vanilla Frappuccino every five minutes!"  
  
"Well, we have a plan…" De began only to be interrupted by Coeur.  
  
"It includes a pie chart…"  
  
De threw one of the many handy satin covered pillows towards her over-sexed sister.  
  
"NO pie charts!" Eir bellowed, glaring at her elder, "You and that stupid book…"  
  
De continued, ignoring her siblings, "We've outlined a plan that includes some time bending and digging up a few ancient artifacts… I don't want to kid you. Fixing this mess is going to take a major commitment on all of our parts, but when we're finished everything WILL be put in order. From now on, you answer only to us, if that's OK with you…"  
  
Whistler gave a shit eating grin, "Oh, yeah- sounds fine!"  
  
"Well, get down there and get those two back on track. As soon as you're done, you're off to a well earned vacation, at our expense..." De smiled flipping a sheaf of detailed instructions to the half demon. With a wave of her hand and he was gone.  
  
"It looks like we got some demoting to do," Eir giggled gleefully as she rubbed her hands together.  
  
Fifteen minutes later…  
  
"Oh, and Cordelia, the new uniform for the Triad's Errand Girl is hanging on the back of the door," De proclaimed pointing a slender finger towards the employee locker room entrance, "It's yours to wear until we get this mess straightened out, and you back to Sunnydale."  
  
The now un-glowy ex-higher power's mouth hung open as she sputtered in surprise, "B-b-b-but…"  
  
"No B-b-b-buts about it Cordy, now put on the lime green suit, and go get us our icy, cold Vanilla Frappuccinos," Eir ordered, her smug grin firmly in place as she picked the horrifying suit off the hook and flung it Cordelia's way.  
  
As the suit flew through the air, encased in billowing dry cleaner plastic, a brilliant flash of light filled the room and the tall thin woman found herself abruptly outfitted in the offending set of clothes.  
  
"Hey!" Cordelia bellowed in outrage as she peeked down at the offending outfit.  
  
"I don't have the patience necessary to wait for you to change, get me my coffee before I get cranky and turn you into something covered in slime!" Coeur growled as she waved her hands to shoo the skinny errand girl into the closest portal to Starbuck's.  
  
As Cordelia faded from their sight, faint grumbling could be heard through the portal, "How the hell did I get demoted to Errand girl for the The Mocha Bitcas?"  
  
"And they say there is no justice in this world," Demetria declared, her green eyes dancing as the newly named TMBs collapsed to the floor in laughter.  
  
* * *  
  
TBC...


	4. Going Back: Step One

**Title:** **Destiny Denied, Chapter Four of ???**  
**Author(s):** Specks, Nina, and Ky   
**Rating:** This chapter is **R **(for language and such).  
**Summary:** AU, folks... Everyone has a destiny, even though Buffy and Angel have long been denied theirs. A changing of the guard causes history to be rewritten and proves that, in the end, no one (yes, Joss and Marti, we're looking at you!) can alter what is destined to come to pass...   
**Spoilers:** This *is* AU, and while everything is pretty fair game, in this chapter we'll be only be making mention of a particular event from the BtVS, Season Six (Two to Go/Grave) Finale.

Disclaimers: Brace yourselves, folks, this may come as a shock to some of you: We are *not* Marti or Joss or David Greenwalt. As a matter of fact, we're not any one (three) in any way involved with the shows, the networks, the production companies, the actors, their agents... yada, yada, yada. We're just some B/A fans, having a little fun with these characters while their owners are off making money with them.  
**Authors Notes:** Ky is still thankful for "hot, half naked jogger-man."  Specks, brave survivor of and champion for the internet challenged, continues to thank the penguin. Meanwhile, Nina's just thankful her midterm is over and her days with the Moron Quadruplets are numbered.  ; )  

On show notes, we'd like to give thanks to the makers of Botox, for fostering the hope for dent free eye candy everywhere.

**Ky and Nina dedicate this chapter to Specks, for not lying in a ditch somewhere, bleeding… ;)******

  
Collectively, we again sincerely thank everyone who's read and encouraged our lunacy on this little project and any of our other (on hold and not abandoned) stories. =o)

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

**(Late summer, 1898)**

Lightning tore through the dark void of night as the violent thunderstorm raged.  Moonlight filtered eerily through the midnight sky, untouched as the rain and wind howled against quavering walls of wood and stone.  Creatures mortal and immortal alike trembled within their puny lodgings, cowering against the fury of Mother Nature's ire.  

All of them frightened, wary...  all but one.

Exposed and alone, he was at the complete mercy of the elements, yet he barely noticed his danger.  Crouched huddled against an alley wall, he trembled, his ragged breath coming out as hisses of pain.  He hadn't bathed or bothered to change clothes since Darla had tossed him into the street, viciously ordering the disoriented vampire to fend for himself and not taint her house with his 'filthy soul,' and now two months worth of sweat, grime and blood caked the dark haired vampire, staining his tattered clothes so that even the relentless rain could not completely wash away the evidence of his ordeals.  

The chaos of the storm raged around him, but still he crouched there, uncomprehending or uncaring at all.  Demonic yellow eyes stared sightlessly out of a ridged, gaunt face tight with anguish.  Except for the brief flickers of sanity that surfaced now and again, there was nothing. The rest of his mind lay trapped in something far more terrible than a storm...

Darkness seeped into every corner of his consciousness, and Angelus gripped the rocky formations of the wall behind him, bracing against the inevitable onslaught of accusatory faces and terrified screams.  Hundreds, thousands of faces, all filled with hate and fear.  

Inescapable.

Every night they stalked him, reminding him of the atrocities he'd committed, forcing him to face the monster that he was. The blood-spattered faces of his victims plagued him, forcing him to relive every gruesome kill in detail. To feel the shameful pleasure he took in feeling the rivers of warm, sticky blood permeate the air. 

Intoxicating. 

The sound of their incoherent begging had once been music to his ears and the deadened, defeated look in their eyes, art. But now, as those searing phantom gazes burned his soul, all he could feel was guilt.  

Drowning in the deafening sound of their screams, Angelus fisted his hands, feeling the sharp pebbles from the stone wall bite into his palms as he sought to control the pain.  The relentless screams tore at him, and the vampire, unable to take anymore let loose a sob that was the first among many. With a tear filled voice, he apologized to those wraiths of his past, breaking down as he had every night since he'd been cursed and had his soul returned.   

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he murmured over and over despairingly, unchecked tears running down his face, mixing with the rain, "I'm so sorry…"

"Goddesses!  It's bad enough they dump me here in the middle of the worst rainstorm since the great friggen flood….  How do they expect me to work with this?  At least you had most of your marbles back the last time we talked!" 

Looking up from his position on the floor, Angelus found himself staring into the slightly grumpy face of a strangely dressed blonde. The man hovered over him with an umbrella, and for a moment, Angelus pondered why the blonde had not run at the sight of his demonic visage, but when his words registered, Angelus' eyes widened in surprise and confusion. 

In a raw, hesitant voice, he addressed the peculiar man, questioning, "Who are you? " 

"Geez," the diminutive demon grumped, addressing the sky, "you'd think a guy would remember ya when you've changed his life around more than once! There's just no thanks in this line of work…"

With a dramatic sigh, he offered the vampire a hand up and introduced himself with a flourish. 

"Whistler, Demon of Destiny, at your service"

Narrowing his eyes at the mention of the word 'demon' Angelus gave the seemingly benign man a look that clearly said, 'Who?' 

Rolling his eyes, Whistler ignored the unspoken question, opting for comfort before disclosure. 

"I don't know about you, pal, but I *really* don't enjoy being soaked, let's go somewhere a bit… friendlier, shall we?" 

With that Whistler snapped his fingers, and Angelus suddenly found himself in an elaborately decorated villa. Beautiful velvet curtains covered the French windows, spilling onto the floor, just ending where a thick oriental rug began. A gilded fireplace crackled lazily in one corner, the fire within warming the chilled bones of both its current occupants.  From the wall above, an antique grandfather clock chimed softly.  The centerpiece of the room was a giant Louis the XII couch, and that was where Whistler deposited Angelus upon arrival. 

After ensuring that his charge wouldn't fall over or bolt from the shock, Whistler strolled over to a bar in the corner for some strong brandy and donated O positive. With a snifter in one hand and a mug in the other, he turned back to Angelus and shoved the mug into the bewildered vampire's hand.  After staring dumbly at the mug for a moment, Angelus sniffed the contents cautiously, his eyes narrowing as he determined the origin of the blood. 

"This is human," he growled, staring at the grinning demon before him accusingly.

  
"Don't worry, it's donated," Whistler assured, holding up a hand in a placating manner.  Lifting his snifter in a small salute, he downed the amber liquid in one gulp before continuing, " Enjoy it now," he advised sagely, "It's gonna be a long while before you taste anything like that again.  It'll be packaged animal blood from now on, pal."

A few silent moments passed as the two supernatural beings regarded each other cautiously.  

Breaking the silence as he got up and refilled his snifter, Whistler asked, "So, you wanna know why I'm here or what?" 

Angelus simply nodded, taking a cautious sip from his mug, eyes riveted on the smaller man as he continued to speak.

"It's simple really," he said as he sat back down, "I'm here for you. A recruiter, kinda…"  Seeing the vampire's confusion, he trailed off before clarifying, "I work for The Powers.  They want you to work for the side of good.  Be all you can be and all that jazz…"

This time, Whistler was halted by Angelus' laughter.  Bitter, hollow laughter as he regarded Whistler with cold eyes, "You lie, little demon.  I'm a vile creature; my very existence is blasphemy.  I've killed.  I've tortured.  I've maimed and butchered and bathed in the blood of innocents.  Worse still, I *rejoiced* in the slaughter.  No powers for good, if they exist, would even tolerate my being, much less want a bloodthirsty animal like me for their side."

"You're not an animal," Whistler sighed.

"I hunt, I kill, I drink blood.  I indulge the basest of instincts…  What makes me any different from an animal?"

"The difference, Liam of Galway," the demon intoned, stressing the vampire's human name, "is your soul.  That soul is your essence- what makes you, well, *you.*  For over a hundred years, after you were turned, your soul was in the ether, leaving your body as a vessel for the demon.  So it was the demon that killed and tortured and tormented, not you."  Looking Angelus in the eye sympathetically, Whistler carried on, "You got a raw deal, kid, keeping all the demon's memories the way you have, but you have to start to separate the demon from the man you were.  It won't be easy.  You've got that Catholic guilt that'll keep that blame firmly in place, make you feel bad for things you couldn't help and weren't responsible for.  It's even dicier since the demon is still there, under the soul, beneath the surface, making you feel some things.  After all, he's still a vicious, violent creature…"  

"Then why me? I'm still an abomination.  I don't deserve this."  The statement was quiet, without theatrics or drama, but it was said with such despairing conviction, that Whistler nearly lost it. Setting his brandy down with a bang, Whistler leapt angrily to his feet. 

"Ay!  Don't you fuckin' tell me what you deserve!  I gave up my vacation because of you, to get you straightened out!  I had to give up lust bunnies and Corona for you!  And, and there was a coup!  Do you know how many millennia it's been since that's happened?  You think the girls would do that for an abomination?  Huh?! Huh?!  I'll have you know that, even though you're not the only vampire ever to regain his soul," his mind flashed to Spike and he made a mental note to bring *that* up with the Triad the first chance he got, "I am the **only** Demon of Destiny The Powers have got, and they sent me to you!  No. One. Else.  Just you.  Not just because you have a soul, but because of the soul you have.  They know what's to come and what part you could play in the future.  They know your potential, your soul, and they saw fit to send me to you.  So tell me to go to hell, threaten me, deny your destiny, if you want, but don't dare tell me again that you're not worthy!" 

The vampire's dark eyes, wide after that outburst, regarded the slight demon carefully, looking for signs of deceit.  Whistler, breathing hard, seeming genuinely upset by Angelus' outlook, matched the vampire's stare defiantly…  Expectantly...

Closing his eyes, Angelus took a moment to adjust, trying out this new perception of himself, and then, coming to terms, he looked to Whistler for a full explanation.

Seeing Angelus was finally ready to accept his destiny, Whistler began, "Ok, boyo, the powers are giving you a chance to do some good.  Make a difference in the world.  Defeat the forces of evil- avert an apocalypse or two…  Yada, yada, yada…  Or you could continue your hermitic existence," he wrinkled his freckled nose in distaste, "smelling up a larger and larger chunk of the planet all the time until someone finally puts you out of your misery.  Your call.  Are ya interested?" 

"I'm interested.  How am I supposed to make a difference?"

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

TBC… 

And again, it's that time… 

We'd like to offer up apologies to anyone we've offended with this chapter, including the 'filthy souled' among us, people burdened with guilt, lapsed Catholics (Is that redundant? Judges, can we get a ruling?), peculiar people, and anyone going to hell in the same handbasket we are.  ;)

Feeback is always of the good…  


	5. Going Back: Step Two

**Author's Notes:** Collectively we would like to thank everyone who's read and encouraged our lunacy on this little, well OK, getting bigger by the day, project and any or our other (on hold and NOT abandoned) stories.  
  
Kyria is still, and forever will be, thankful for the hot, half-naked man who jogs past her office daily. She is especially thankful that he waved at her Thursday. ::insert dreamy sigh here:: She also would like to thank Nina and Specks for all of their talent, dedication and creativity when it comes to getting Angel back into leather pants. ::again insert dreamy sigh here::  
  
Specks continues her homage to the dialogue guru and the umbrella-toting, ill-tempered penguin... ::mumble mumble mumble::  
  
Nina, now officially a survivor of the horrors of the Moron Quadruplets, invites you all to a festive text book burning this evening in the heart of the Nevada desert. Special recognition also goes to Ky, for the timely warning on the show last night, and the masochist who designed the course for the charity walk this past weekend... No, making 3 out 4 legs of the course uphill wasn't too much... And the idea of having them all consecutively? BRILLIANT! Really... ::adjusts the mammoth ice pack and gingerly stretches her legs::  
  
And now, without further ado, the story:****

***********

"Well, first off, they want you to infiltrate the Order of Taraka…"  
  
Angel's eyes shrunk to slits; growling rumbled deep in his chest, "The Powers wouldn't ask me to become an assassin- I won't become a killer again." Angel lunged to leave, only to find himself unable to move.  He did the only thing he could, he continued growling at the demon he was now certain had deceived him in anger and frustration.

  
Whistler waited calmly for the vampire to realize his predicament before continuing, nonplussed by the glare, "Not so much a killer… Least ways that's not the reason that the Girls want you in The Order. The Powers want you in there to keep an eye on things. The Order isn't really that bad you know," he assured the much larger, glowering 'man', trying to ease his fears, "They may be assassins but the group is a true mixture of both light and dark. The books weren't kidding when they said the order could be made up of anyone. The only problem is there is no one you can there, since you never know who's playing for which team."   
  
"That sounds extremely dangerous," the dark, dirty vampire mused.

  
"Well, even you can't live forever..."  
  
"So… what do they want me to do?" the vampire asked warily.  
  
"Oh that… Details, details. They want you to help save innocents targeted by Tarakans. Give the poor bastards a chance to flee or fake their deaths.  The important part, though, is to make sure that their Warriors, the Slayers, don't become targets: and if they do, well," he shrugged, knowing this part wasn't going to go over well, "they're charging you to keep them alive."  

  
"Why save Slayers," he mused indifferently, still warily regarding Whistler, "After all, when one dies, another is called, And," he winced rubbing his head as he recalled some of the damage a previous Slayer inflicted on his person, "as I remember, they can take care of themselves."   
  
"Yeah, well… The Powers don't want the other side to have an… unfair advantage. There's supposed to be a balance, you see, until the End of Days, at least, but the other side's been playing fast and loose with the rules. Since the Slayers are pretty much the only warriors our Powers have in this dimension, they want to make sure the playing field stays level," Whistler paused, watching Angelus' reaction closely, "Is the Slayer thing gonna be a problem for you."   
  
The demon inside him raged at the thought of helping anyone, let alone his mortal enemy… Angelus paused, wrestling with the possibilities, "Okay, so I save the Slayers and the innocents… What of the people who aren't innocent?"  
  
Whistler eyed him shrewdly, "You'll help the Order take them out. Can you handle that?"  
  


Silence hung heavily between them.  Whistler sighed as he leaned back, waiting for the vampire's response.  Could the powers have been wrong to dump this burden on Angelus so soon?  The half demon leaned forward, trying to think of something convincing to say when Angelus looked up- resolve glinting from his eyes.

  
He'd live to regret this he was sure, he thought rubbing his forehead as he dismissed the last of his hesitation, "How am I to know who is innocent?"  
  
Whistler sighed inwardly with relief as he gestured towards himself smirking, "I, your official link to the Powers, will drop by to fill you in if there's any doubt."  
  
The vampire cautiously nodded his agreement, "I'll do it."  
  
"Good," beamed Whistler ready to get on task, "Now we can tackle the real problem at hand."  
  
"Real problem?" the bewildered vamp asked.  
  
"Yeah! Your clothes.  The Girls… I mean The Powers have a mandate concerning their warriors, and lets just say you can't go walking around looking like," Whistler gestured at Angelus' unkempt form while wrinkling up his nose,  "That.  Now let's see..." 

Rummaging through a suitcase that had appeared from thin air, Whistler produced a maroon silk shirt and a pair of leather pants. Digging around some more, he found the last part of the ensemble that warriors from every universe seemed to be attached to: the leather duster.   
  
Fingering the soft leather of the ensemble, Angelus eyed Whistler curiously, "Why so much leather?"   
  
"You have no idea how much THEY like the leather," Whistler grumbled under his breath, "Friggen' Women."  

"Now, go put on your clothes, you look like shit."  With that, he shooed Angelus into a side door for him to change. Closing the door behind the dark haired vampire, Whistler sat and waited, freshly filled snifter in one hand and a small ring with a red gem in the other. Rolling the ring between his fingers, he idly wondered how it would affect the outcome of history. Would the changes he had set in motion be enough to prevent the Buffster and Soul Boy from screwing things up, again, in the future? The Powers were putting a great deal of faith in a half-sane vampire with a soul. Shrugging off his doubts, he downed the contents of his glass in one gulp before depositing the precious item back in his pocket. Staring into the fire, the demon waited lost in his thoughts.  
  
Twenty minutes later, Angelus emerged from the changing room. With his color back after his recent feeding, he seemed to be feeling *much* better. No longer looking like an emaciated beggar, he now looked the part of a moderately prosperous young man.  Making his way across the room with a power that had been absent earlier in the evening, Angelus stopped in front of Whistler and waited patiently for inspection.  
  
"Hey! You look half way decent! Am I good? Or am I good?" Of course, Whistler admitted to himself, he couldn't take all the credit. Truth was, he'd have never even thought of clothing or food. All of the equipment had been provided by the new PTBs. They'd thought of everything, and instead of him having to work out all the details, as he had in the… future? The past? Scrunching up his brow thoughtfully, he decided against working out the semantics that resulted when one bent time, and decided on 'before.' Yes. As he had before… Now, everything was taken care of for him. All he really had to do was show up, talk, and hand over the necessary equipment. And when he was done talking, he'd finally get to go back and take that vacation. Things were certainly looking up.   
  
Roused from his thoughts when the vampire cleared his throat uncertainly, Whistler shook of his reverie, flashed one of his trade mark shit-eating-grins, rose from his seat, and reached into his left pocket to produce the accessory to complete Angelus' ensemble: The Gem of Amarra.   
  
He chuckled as he saw Angelus' eyes widen slightly, before returning to his neutral, stoic facade.  Uncertain, the vampire backed away a few feet and shot a questioning glance at his unlikely benefactor. Relieved that, at least, the boy's senses were still intact, Whistler set the ring on the table, pushing it towards its reluctant recipient.  
  
"Well, go on," the quirky little man urged, "Take it."  
  
"Is that…?" Angelus murmured as he inched closer to the table, eyes fixed on the ring. "It can't be…"  
  
"It can be and it is. The Gem of Amarra," trying to add some levity to the moment, he affected his best game show host voice and added, "A limited edition, indeed one of a kind, gem rendering it's wearer impervious to sun, stake, fire, and beheading, exquisitely mounted in sterling silver by master craftsmen and reinforced with Majiks known only by the gods and the most powerful of Wiccans, this ring is a gift to you… A token, if you will, of The Powers' great faith in their chosen Warrior."  
  
Angelus regarded the ring in awe as Whistler's words slowly sank in.   
  
The Gem of Amarra.   
  
Of course, he'd heard about the ring, any vampire worth his blood had, but he'd never believed the stories. It was the Holy Grail of the demon world, one of those legends that had been passed down through the ages, sought by many but never recovered. Even in his heyday with Darla, when he'd have given anything to possess such a talisman, he'd thought it to be a fairytale.  
  
And now it was his. A token from these mysterious Powers That Be that Whistler kept referring to.  
  
Reverently, he inched closer to it- hesitating before actually picking it up.  An electrical like tingle surged through his hand as he slipped it hesitantly onto his left middle finger. 

  
Immediately, something in him changed and he was filled with a surge of confidence he'd never before possessed, not as cock-sure Liam and certainly not in the horrendous months since his soul had been restored. It was confidence he recognized as not being all his own and briefly he wondered how much of that confidence came from the gem itself and how much of it came from knowing that someone thought highly enough of him to bestow something of such… magnitude… upon him.    
  
Gazing up at Whistler, he had no words to impart his gratitude, so instead he just nodded, wordlessly vowing to be worthy of so great a gift.   
  
He'd never really been good with human emotions, Whistler reflected, dropping his eyes and shifting uncomfortably under Angelus' grateful gaze. As the Demon of Destiny, he'd rarely had to interact with any corporeal beings, a perk he could now freely admit he'd taken for granted until it became clear just how poorly suited he was for that sort of contact. With the previous Powers' stance that all earth dwellers were 'lower beings' he'd never taken the time improve upon those skills and now, with the pitiable vampire staring at him, he deeply regretted that.   
  
Maybe the new bosses would spring for a seminar somewhere. Somewhere tropical, preferably… He made a mental note to ask and then quickly re-established eye contact with his charge. Clearing his throat, he decided to bypass any awkward personal-type conversations and just get right down to the details of the mission.  
  
"So… Um. Okay, now that you've got everything you need, we can get into how you'll be infiltrating the Order. First things first… The next meeting is a week from tonight," he advised, pulling out a sheet of paper and writing down the date and time of the meeting and scribbling a map with directions, before taking a moment to describe the meeting place. "Once you're there, you'll get the information on your first innocent. After that it's sort of like Mission Impossible-"  
  
"Mission Impossible?" interrupted Angelus, brow wrinkled in confusion.  
  
"Oh sorry… Wrong era. Never mind. Moving on, basically you have your choice of which assignment you accept. Make sure you only take the ones who are demon and, well, bad. If an innocent is selected we just need you to make first contact and explain to them that they've been targeted. Use your 'grrr' face to convince them, if ya gotta. After that, it should be pretty much out of your hands, we have others in place to make sure they'll be okay if they believe you…"  
  
"Wait, Whistler, all this is great information for once I've been accepted, but how am I to infiltrate?"  
  
"Ah, skipped a step, didn't I?" Whistler chuckled, "Actually, there's not much infiltrating to do, Soul Boy. I've already laid the groundwork for you. Your code name for entrance to the Order and all their meetings is Fantome'. Don't answer to anything else. You know, just in case. Once you're in, just try to blend, don't do anything stupid, and you should be okay. If things get sticky, just act like your demon did and you'll be fine. Now, let's see, did I miss anything?" He paused, searching his memory for anything he might have missed, "Nope. So, any questions?"  
  
Angelus shook his head, "Ah, no."  
  
"Good! If you need me, which you won't, don't worry, I'll know. Now this villa," he gestured at the expansive estate with his hands, "is yours to use, so feel free to roam. There's some blood down in the cellar, but you'd better find a butcher before you run out. Money is not an issue, since you've amassed a tidy sum over the years. Until you're up to dealing with that end of things, there's enough here to keep you in style. So, live and I'll see you around, kid." Without waiting for a response, Whistler shimmered and disappeared from the room, leaving a bewildered vampire to contemplate the drastic turn his life had suddenly taken. 

*******

We apologize to any members of PETA who may have been offended by our use of leather on Angel's, hot, sexy, hairless body [remember folks, we're talking the Pre-AtS Angel, whom is definitely worth killing a few cows for, as opposed to the current incarnation: (edited to remove anything that could further offend  ::g:: )].  We apologize to any vampires that didn't know about the Gem of Amarra, we're sure that you really ***ARE*** worth your blood.  We apologize to any contract killers/assassins if they feel that we portrayed their profession in a negative light…  After all, John Cusack looked pretty cool in Gross Pointe Blank, so they can't all be bad, not as bad as say, Pat Buchanan…   We apologize if we offended anyone by not valuing the lives of the guilty, erm, we mean 'un-innocent' as highly as those of the innocent, you know who we're talking about- Re… HEY!  I'm using this…  Don't TOUCH IT!!!  AAAAARGH!  Oooof, Argh, Ack! What the h…

A-hem, I'm finishing off the apology, 'cuz Nina is busy tying Kyria to the chair--  hope she remembers to gag her this time…  Anyway, I apologize for our inability to keep Ky from the laptop.  ::shrugs::  We can only do so much when she gets on a rant (after all, she *is* the bigger sister ::g::), but as you can see, we are increasing our efforts to keep this from happening another time.  Again, we're sorry.  

Now for the good stuff:  Feedback!  Please?


	6. Torment

We continue to disclaim, ladies and gents:

We are not now,nor have we ever been in league with Sata… Erm.  We meant Mutant Enemy…

**Author's Notes: **Just quickly today, we'd like to thank all our feedbackers/reviewers (if you didn't get a response from us--**SORRY**!! It's been kind of hectic of late.), half nekkid jogger man who ***WORKS* **those lycra shorts, the dialogue guru, whoever decided five days of work or school a week was plenty, the umbrella-toting penguin, men who don't need the book, and Nina's very own professor of chaos, B.   
  
OH! _ Italics _indicate a dream sequence-- Just in case... ;o)  
  
*** __

_Hips undulate against him as her voice purrs insidiously in his ear…  "My boy, welcome home."  Tiny, deadly hands urge him towards a door, towards home and hearth, and he knocks…_

_Small brown eyes, red-rimmed and brimming with tears still unshed, wary, peaking up from the through the crack between door and frame. A quick blink and then another before recognition opens both eyes and door wide.  Smiling now, wariness turned to delight with arms raised, begging an embrace. __  
  
_

_Four words float through the air, innocent utterance… blasphemy. _

_  
__Pale eyes, blue as the blood her dress signifies, gleam with mirth. Tinkling laughter, dark, malevolent, cuts through night air as an invitation is given. ___

_Past table and hearth, casual strides carry death slowly through what was never a happy home.  Tiny hands tug on larger, stronger ones and girlish chatter summons others from a distant room. _

Blue eyes gleam from a disfigured face… 

_Followed by shrill screams and little arms, clutching desperately to long, muscled legs. Brown eyes gleam black with terror as defender becomes assailant. High-pitched wail fades into a gurgle- becomes silence as scarlet warmth sprays forth. Quick gulps of innocent nectar, then casually tossed aside.  _

_Waiting. _

_  
__Scowling already, harsh words, clipped tones urge silence before father sees what wicked, crimson-mouthed creature stands before him. Disbelieving eyes survey the morbid scene as he stands. Rooted to the spot.  Frozen… Calling forth Saints oft denied with one breath, cursing that which he sowed with his last. _

_Two long strides and razor fangs are buried to the gums. Bitter blood, pours forth, down the throat in great, long swallows. No sounds, no struggle as life is drained away. _

_  
__A swish of skirts, flurry of brown material as she takes flight. Running to overtake her. One step, two steps, blood still dripping from teeth in a face now human. Hands stained red grab long, dark hair. Yank, then yank again before she tumbles to the ground. Too hysterical to scream as he reaches down to her, smiling…  Reassuring… Then grasping arms so hard they bruise as hope vanishes and soft brown eyes flutter closed with a prayer. Hands fisted through hair wrench her head to the side before biting forcefully, devouring her essence as she screams… _

_Reveling, feasting, and as the scream dies with her, delighted laughter tinkles again in the air. _

_  
__The body drops to the ground and long, dark hair morphs, becomes golden and green eyes, flecked with gold, stare sightlessly at the sky from sockets that once housed eyes of brown. __  
  
_

_Confusion.__  
  
_

_Green eyes again, no longer staring sightlessly, tenderly studying… Then pain. Flesh tearing as metal pierces flesh and bone. Sharp gasp and green-gold eyes shine mercy and pity upon him. _

_Tugging, pulling, force from behind as tears spill down the face of beauty, the face of mate._

_  
__Darker blonde, longer with eyes of green again. No pity in them this time as they stare up at him. Tender again, but more… deeper.  Love?  A kiss, a scream, hasty retreat, and time moves backwards. __  
  
_

_Staring into familiar eyes… like a distorted mirror and a massive jolt before sinking slowly. __  
  
_

_Flash of blonde… No noble attire but still the pale eyes of blue staring up at him before crumbling to dust on a rain soaked street. Staring at a tiny life left behind… blasphemy._

_Black/blue strands almost masking onyx eyes that look deep into his, power radiating in terrifying waves, an unknown woman shakes her finger from a distance. _

_Torment. Pain. Hell. What could only be hell. No people, not like the priests had promised, but populated with hordes of demons, delighting in his torture. __  
  
_

_Mocking, maiming, never ending. _

_Struggling in vain, violently restrained as blue hands reach slowly out to touch petal soft skin, emerald eyes shimmer again with salty tears before slowly disintegrating over the sound of his screams.  _

_Casting chocolate eyes heavenward, shock as black eyes sadly return his stare and ebony hair with streaks of shimmering blue swirls around a shaking head.  _

_"It's not supposed to be this way," the interloper intones sagely before dissolving into light._

_Tiny hands, tugging on larger broader ones and attention shifts.  _

_Looking down, brown eyes lock with brown as a bloody, mangled throat forces out the question, "Are you an Angel?"_

Drenched in sweat, Angel awoke with a start...  Scrambling to sit up right, unmindful of the thin linen sheet that fell to his waist, revealing tense, perfectly muscled shoulders and a taut abdomen that housed a quivering, clenched stomach...

The screams echoing in the air quickly permeated the lingering haze of sleep as he scanned his surroundings, looking for whatever hapless creature was responsible for those desperate sounds of terror.  

Attempting to call out, he realized his raw throat was already working...  

Finally recognizing the screams as his own, he broke down, descending into bloody memories as the nightmare lingered. 

***

"Wait just a minute," the blond held up her hands, trying to bring a halt to her younger sister's rambling.  "You did what?!"

"Now, Coeur, calm down…"

"What the hell do you mean, calm down?!  You sent our warrior, our 'half-crazy with guilt warrior,' a nightmare?  About killing his family?"

"And Buffy sending him to hell," Eir muttered miserably, tucking a stray blue strand behind her ear.

"AND HELL?  Were you trying to…"

"Oh, you know damn well that wasn't intentional," the tiny Goddess interrupted indignantly, drawing herself up to face off with her sibling, "It was supposed to be a… motivational… dream." 

Turning their attention to the scrying wall, both Goddesses sighed as they studied the distraught vampire.  Lying prostrate in the sunny field beside the villa, tears ran unchecked down his face as sobs wracked his body.  

"Hey… Are you ogling half dressed men again?"  Demetria called cheerfully as she strolled through the entryway, squinting at the scrying wall to see what had her sisters so engrossed.  "Ooh, it's our Warrior… Has he become a sun worshipper already?"  

At her sister's identical scowls, she held up both hands defensively, "Sheesh.  What pissed…"  She was cut off as Eir pulled her roughly across the room to the western wall.  Rubbing sore wrists, she complained, "Now that was just rude…"

"Fix it!"  

"What?  Fix what?  The Wall?  Is it stuck again," she thumped the wall with a fist reflexively before staring more closely at the image, puzzled.  "Wait, is he…  He's crying?"

Eir rolled her eyes impatiently, "Glad you've finally caught on, Sherlock… Yes, he's crying!  He's *been* crying."

"Why? What happened," genuinely concerned now, she looked from one sister to another for answers before turning her attention back to the wall.    
  


"Eir broke him," Coeur said, leveling a angry glare at the shame-faced Goddess of Chaos.  
  


"I did NOT!" she groaned, covering her eyes with her hand in embarrassment.

"He wasn't lying in a sunny meadow sobbing yesterday, now was he?"

Sparks danced from Eir's dark eyes as she fisted her hands and turned away from her accuser, leveling hopeful eyes on the sister still studying the vampire's image.  Slowly, pleadingly, she repeated her mandate, "Fix.  Him."

With a heavy sigh, Demetria seated herself on the plush carpeting, her eyes never leaving the vampire's face, "Tell me what happened."

After taking fifteen minutes to explain the details of the botched dream-walk to Demetria, the three sisters squabbled as to whether or not they could interfere directly with Angel's state of mind, finally agreeing that since they had inadvertently caused the harm, they could not be faulted for making things right again.  And from there things quickly fell apart…

"Why do you hate me?"  De groused.

"We do not hate you," Eir groaned as Coeur erupted in a fit of giggles.

"You *must* hate me…  What other reason could you have for wanting to torture me?"

"Really, De.  It's hardly torturous to bend a little time, go down to Earth, finesse an attractive demi-god, and do some of that pesky healing you're so good at," Coeur teased.  

Gritting her teeth, the redhead glared at her sister, "You know it's not the healing that I have a problem with, sister.  It's the finessing of the demi-god."  

"Hey!  I happen to like Loki.  Not only is he hot, but he's also got a great job, and he's entertaining," Eir defended her erstwhile friend, while crinkling her forehead in confusion,  "Come to think of it, I still don't understand why you broke up."

"Well, I'm devoting an entire chapter in my book about their particular type of relationship, but, since you *are* my sister, I suppose I can give you a little preview," Coeur magnanimously informed her youngest sibling in a stage whisper, sweeping strawberry locks off her face and enjoying the looks of discomfort and rapt attention displayed on her either of her sisters' faces.  "As the story goes…"

"Oh no," Demetria interrupted forcefully.  "The story does not go, There'll be no 'the story goes' today.  In fact, there is no 'story going' at all!  Not even a fable, or, or a snippet.  Nope, no 'story goes' *ever*-- or bad, bad things will happen!"

"Oookay," Eir stared at Demetria, taking in the flushed appearance and fidgeting.  Rarely did she see her sedate sister so…worked up.  This rare treat was going a long way to brighten her day.  It nearly made up for the way things had gone during her dreamwalk.  Nearly.  Deciding to take advantage of the singular occasion, she pressed on, "So, he was… bad in bed?  We could fix that!  Coeur could give him an advance copy of her book."

Blushing nearly as red as her hair, Demetria covered her eyes with both hands.  Snickering gleefully, Coeur patted Eir's hand.  "Loki doesn't need the book, sweetie," exchanging a mischievous wink with her ally, she continued, "He could probably help me write parts of it; couldn't he, De?"  

"I told you before, I am *not* discussing this.  *We* are not discussing this.  And, really, why can't one of you talk to him?"

"Well, we could, I suppose," Eir conceded, "But I think he'd be more, um, agreeable if you were the one doing the asking…  Besides, if I went, I'd have to tell him why we need the access and how you would have to be the one going to the actual meeting to help some guy, and then… Well, you know Loki.  He's still a little…  territorial.  Poor Angel would be the butt of every cruel joke Loki could dream up," knowing just which buttons to push, she finished dramatically, "That would hardly be fair to Angel, now would it?" 

"If I go, you know I'll just ask him for more gory details about the two of you," Coeur smirked, knowing the battle was already won, "and you know he'll tell me…  Now, shoo…  Go see your hunk of an ex and talk him into letting you preside over his little meeting tonight."

"Yeah," the youngest chimed in, "and don't forget to fix Soulboy for us!"

"But…" De sputtered, wondering how her lazy Sunday-off had morphed into an uncomfortable meeting between her and her ex.

"But nothing; go on now so I can fill Eir in on all the juicy gossip you've been holding out on."  Waving a hand dismissively, Coeur settled into a chair and began to regale the baby of the family with tales of the ill-fated romance between the mischievous Norse demi-god and their reserved sister.

With a loud groan, De placed her hand to her throbbing temples and shimmered out of sight…  

***

Angel found his way to the entrance of the underground tunnel Whistler had described.  He glanced around before approaching in fear of being watched, it was only him and the sounds of the night around him.  The branches of the trees above Angel sighed in a strong breeze and he headed for the underground passage.  

He was thankful for vampiric sight as he weaved through the dark tunnels until a great hall loomed up in front of him.  He took deep un-needed breath of cool, musty air, as he nervously waited for others to funnel inside in front of him.  As he took his turn entering the hall, the vampire was stopped by an oversized Jinn who grabbed him by the collar.

"Name," the yellow skinned creature hissed, his eyes turning red.

"Fantome," Angel answered letting his demonic visage appear momentarily.

The demon quickly released Angel and averted his eyes, "I apologize, Master… I did not know.  I am your servant."

Angel hesitated, by not punishing a sub-demon, he would call attention to himself…  Roughly he pushed the demon down and hammer fisted him in the jaw.

"Don't let it happen again," he growled softly and entered the dimly lit hall.  His vampiric senses went wild.  He was surrounded by humans, demons, trolls, fairies, elves and hobgoblins… 

'Jesus, Mary and St. Patrick save me,' he thought, the old Irish-Catholic rites filtering through his unconsciousness.  

'A creature for every nightmare,' he muttered, desperately trying to forget his own as a petite woman ascended a small stage and began to speak,

"Keeper of Bones

We know thy face

But we shall yet,

Out strip thy pace

Tonight we gather

To raise your scythe

To collect our bounty

For another's life."

Power radiated off the arresting red headed woman as she raised a portrait above her head of a young man and turned so everyone in the crowd could see his features.

"Even now, he breathes his last 

Let his death come to pass!"

Immediately the image of the man, his name, and other personal information was inscribed in the crowd's memory.  With careful grace, the delicate female set down the portrait and turned towards the audience, her bright green eyes found his, and seemed to stare into Angel's soul, healing him with a loving glance as she smiled softly and disappeared.  He noted to himself that she seemed to be outfitted in beige leather pants similar to what he was wearing as he followed the crowd of killers headed for the door.  While he contemplated the strange woman's soothing power over him, her reassuring voice rang through his mind: "We are always with you."

TBC…

Our apologies today to:

Mischievous Norsemen Nightmare creatures great and small Assassins who resent being lumped in with the sort of riff raff that kills for sport Exes Devils in blue dresses Devils not in blue dresses Non-devils in blue dresses Blue Dresses for their ubiquitous association with devils… Any one reading this on FF.net who has to put up with the wonky spacing! 

We're sorry!


	7. Dream a Little Dream

**Author's Notes: **Kyria thanks SCWL for all of the fun feed back, and of course the thanks the hot half nekkid guy who, unfortunately, is not so half nekkid anymore. (It is cold and rainy where Ky lives, which means HNG put on a shirt. If you happen to drive through a small town in IL, and see a short blond woman leaving a trail of damp kleenex behind her while she binges on chocolate covered peanuts, remind her, it is only 34 weeks until summer! On second thought, just keep going.)  
  
Nina, still reeling from her most recent midterm and the resultant brain meltdown, wants to thank Ky for picking up all the slack and still taking the time to lend an ear and a shoulder when I needed it... THANK YOU! Special recognition to Murphy for his unbiased enforcement of the law and 'Hank' and 'Mark' for keeping SQL entertaining.   
  
Specks says: "I would like to thank my wonderfully crazy coauthors. Arent they wonderful? *looks at readers pressuring them to agree*. See? You guys are wonderful! Even our readers think so! Also as usual the penguin who's quack is worse than her bite. he he. And of course the readers! You poor poor subjected people!"

**The NC-17 rated version of this chapter may be found at www.concordia-discors.com**

*******

  
A ribbon of moonlight streamed across the calm ocean as he sat lounging at the seaside bare and grill. A couple walked up the white sandy beach that seemed iridescent in the light of the full moon. They climbed the stairs walking across roughly hewn stone, which gave the casual, beachside eatery at the Hyatt Regency a medieval look. Whistler drunkenly grinned as he downed the limey remnants of his Corona. With a contented sigh, he glanced at the scantily clad patrons and smirked. Lithe beauty surrounded him, long legs, tanned skin, the faint scent of coconut oil, and sleek expanses of tanned skin… This was the life, an honest to Goddess vacation. It was about damn time.   
  
"Excuse me, sir?" A snotty voice sounded, interrupting his reverie.  
  
Glancing up, the half-demon noticed a very unnatural looking blond waitress glaring at him. Her deep brown eyes looked oddly familiar, as did her lime green suit. Drunkenly, he shuffled through his mental Rolodex, which wasn't too organized when he was sober let alone in the happy twilight stages of drunkenness, and considered the possibilities…  
  
"I know you from some where," he slurred, jabbing a finger in the woman's general direction.  
  
"No shit, Sherlock," she snarked at the relaxed demon.  
  
He crinkled his forehead, wondering what he could have done to offend the woman in front of him, "Look, I'm sorry if we've, ah… ya' know, knocked boots and I don't remember it…"  
  
"In your dreams, circus freak," she muttered with a graceless snort.  
  
Whistler sat up in straight in his chair, and glowered at the skinny, big-boobed, badly dressed bitch standing in front of him. He knew that tone- in fact, he'd know *that tone* anywhere.  
  
"What the fuck do you want, Cordelia?"  
  
She slammed an ice-cold coffee concoction in front of him, letting some of the drink's contents splatter the white linen table cloth and spat, "The Mocha Bitcas request your presence at the main office; you forgot to update them on who was offing slayers before you left on vacation, moron."  
  
"Who the hell are The Mocha Bitcas?" sputtered the short "man" as he lifted the drink to his nose, trying to detect whether or not the woman whom he got demoted had poisoned the frothy beverage.  
  
Slinging the small round tray she'd used to transport his drink on to her side, she rested one hand on a curvaceous hip as she glared down her nose at him, "The Powers That Be, GOD, what do you mean who are The Mocha Bitcas?! They are your BOSSES after all…"  
  
Whistler groaned, not being able to follow the annoying creature's train of logic at all. Dimly he remembered leaving the report in question on his desk; he hadn't delivered it to the Girls as he was supposed to.  
  
"Shit," he growled to himself.  
  
"Are you COMING?" the blond asked over her shoulder as she headed towards a portal that appeared in the midst of the tropical foliage surrounding the bar, "We have to stop by a Starbucks on the way back, so hurry the hell up."  
  
"Christ, woman! What is it with you and coffee drinks anyway?" he grumbled as he followed her back to work.  
  
* * *  
  
Still clad in Bermudas and flip-flops, Whistler grasped his report with sweaty hands as he headed up the stairs to the entrance of the main office. The Girls were not going to like this, he grumped to himself, reading and walking at the same time.  
  
The first leg of the project was taking care of itself. That was ages, literally, ago when he dragged the insane vampire out of yet another alley, and as no good deed went un-punished, the PTB's had left him in charge of more and more of their "pet project".  
Angel, surprisingly, had shaped up quickly. Within the first few weeks, he had fallen into line, towed the rope… became a good soldier, so to speak.  
  
Well, as much as a soul who shared a body with the most malevolent demon that had ever come into existence could. It was amazing how quickly the guy had gotten it together… Almost magical, the demon speculated, rifling through papers until he ran smack into what felt like a brick wall.  
  
"Hey! What the fu…" he started to exclaim, until he glanced up at the Amazon standing as a barrier to the entrance of the main office.  
  
"Myrina! Congratulations on your new post…" he sputtered before trailing off uncertainly as she pulled a flaming sword from a snake skin sheath. She was the fifth Angel of Death hired since Eir had taken over the Main Office's security detail; none of the previous employees were up to the standards set by the tactical Goddess of War. He wasn't sure what happened to those that couldn't cut the mustard, maybe they were banished… He shuddered, considering the other forms of possible punishments.  
  
"What is your purpose, demon," the wild-eyed woman asked, looking him up and down. She shifted her weight on the balls of her feet as she moved from side to side. The spirited warrior's dark skin gleamed in the dancing light of her sword's flame.  
  
"Just here to update the PTBs," he answered, backing slowly away from the heat that radiated off of the newly hired AoD's weapon.  
  
She considered him momentarily, and sheathed her weapon. The marble arch that marked the PTB's entry, took on a cold blue-ish coloring as the sword was extinguished. The Amazon reached into her snakeskin pouch and pulled out a Handspring. After pressing a few buttons, she glanced up at the trembling half-demon.  
  
"You were supposed to turn that in a week ago, they have about fifteen minutes before their next appointment, you'd better get in there and make it snappy."   
  
She neatly slipped her PDA back into her pouch and made way for his entrance.  
  
Whistler padded through the winding hallways, his footwear making a popping sound with each step. Christ, this was so embarrassing. He came around the final curve and up to the PTB's private chambers. Reverently, he knocked on their door and waited. The door opened a sliver through which he could see a black eye consider him suspiciously. Abruptly the door flew open, as the youngest of the three burst through  
  
"About damn time!" The blue haired one gripped, grinning ear to ear, "I was afraid you got lost out there bending time… Thank Us that you're OK!"   
  
The elder sister stood behind Eir, her arms crossed as she stared at him angrily. Eir ignored the blond's threatening stance and threaded her arm through the crook of his elbow, pulling him into their chambers.   
  
"We've got pizza and beer… Heck I even had Cordy bring us up some Corona! Make yourself at home," the energetic goddess bubbled as she called out to her older sister, "De! Whistler is here!"  
  
Whistler shuffled through the different copies of the report, "I have some bad news…"  
  
"Bad news?" De asked, crinkling her brow as she entered the living space of their private chambers, "Is Angel OK?"  
  
He nodded his head in the positive, "Angel is all right, it is the slayer issue that is causing me headaches."  
  
"Yeah," Coeur said, "We were expecting that. What force of darkness is taking out our warriors now?"  
  
The three "women" plopped themselves into their favorite sitting positions. Eir looked at him from the largest slate colored couch, laying flat on her stomach, her chin in her hands as she considered the demon's words.  
  
The Goddess of Love sat curled up in one of the over stuffed chairs with her tiny legs thrown over the arm. She never looked at him directly unless she was speaking, and even then, she did it with disdain.   
  
The Goddess of Justice always lay on the floor, propped up by many of the satin pillows that were strewn half hazard through out the room. Her foot would tap faster whenever the news he gave them got bad- like right now her foot was tapping out a staccato beat that a flamenco dancer couldn't keep up with…  
  
He realized that he was stalling, and decided to just blurt it out. I mean, what was the worst they could do? Fire him? He gulped as the Goddess of Love and Lust glared his way, he got the impression they could, and would, do much worse than fire him.  
  
"Well, it is a little closer to home than that…"  
  
"Spit it out demon," Coeur growled, "We haven't got all day…"  
  
He handed over copies of his report, "It's the Watchers, they're the ones killing the slayers once they turn eighteen."  
  
  
* * *  
  
Sitting up in alarm, I clutched a sheet to my breast and listened intently. From the corner of my eye, I caught chiffon curtains flapping in the breeze…  
  
But I hadn't left my window open. Yanking the sheet from the bed, I wrapped it around my unclothed body and headed towards the window. It shut with a thump as I pushed on the sash.  
  
"You look beautiful standing in the moonlight," a velvety voice murmured from behind me causing a stab of pleasure low in my abdomen.  
  
Eager with anticipation, I turned towards the source of my desire.  
  
"Angel…" I gasped.  
  
With lazy arrogance, he stood leaning against my bed dark, eyes burning into mine with ferocious tenderness. I stared at his black silk covered torso and gazed lower, to the black leather pants that hugged every solid inch of his lower body.  
  
"Nice pants," I crooned walking closer to him and preparing myself for the promise of satisfaction I saw shining from those dark eyes...  
  
Long minutes later, I lay breathlessly on the bed, calling out his name again and again...  
  
Only to be interrupted. By MY SISTER!  
  
"Couer!" De yelled from my doorway.  
  
What the fuck! Couldn't she see I was busy? VERY busy?  
  
Angel looked up and with a sexy growl said, "I'm going to make you scream…"  
  
"Christ, Couer! Wake up!" Eir hollered from behind De.  
  
Shaking my head in confusion, I opened one eye hoping to see someone tall, dark and vampy.  
  
But, alas, no Angel.  
  
I surveyed the room and saw instead my two sisters standing in my door way with tired angry frowns on their faces.  
  
"You made him go away," I grumbled sleepily.  
  
"We're going to make YOU go away if you don't stop screaming, 'More Angel, please more!' in your sleep," Eir glowered, "If I weren't a Goddess, I'd need serious therapy after hearing that… There are no words to describe the horror…"  
  
"Get ear plugs," I snarled as I pulled the pillow over my head, hoping to find my way back to dreamland quick.  
  
No such luck.  
  
"As long as we're up," De chirped, "let's decide what to do about the Watchers."  
  
I groaned from under the pillow. Old tweedy watchers were *not* fun to think about. Nekkid Angel, now that was more my style…  
  
"Don't want to," I whined.  
  
Eir pulled the pillow from my head, "If we're up, you're up."  
  
"FINE!" I bellowed glaring at my younger sisters, "What are we deciding?"  
  
"Didn't you listen to Whistler's report at all? Remember, the new head of the Watcher's Council came to the conclusion that he is better equipped to wage the war against the forces of darkness, and slayers are nothing more than expendable pawns… Remember? Our Demon of Destiny said that The Watchers are the ones putting out hits on our slayers once they reach their eighteenth birthday," De said in annoyance.  
  
I raised an eyebrow, ashamed that I had forgotten those important details. Eir and I had been involved in an intense game of Good Cop/Bad Cop trying to keep Whistler on his toes. Every time he reported to us, we switched roles… Eir IS the Goddess of Chaos, after all. I don't have that lucky excuse of a job. Nope, I just liked to fuck with the little guy's head. Sue me.  
  
"That is important," I sighed and the previous conversation began to come into focus, "Didn't Whistler suggest we put Angel on it?"  
  
"Yeah, Whistler said, "Angel," and you totally tuned out the rest of the conversation, didn't you?" Eir groaned, "Hell, you even forgot to be Bad Cop. Anyway, isn't Angel ALREADY protecting the slayers by working with the Order…"  
  
"So, he can do both. The hits are few and far between that he actually becomes involved in- he could be doing so much more…" I added dreamily.  
  
"The more he'll be doing isn't you, 'Oh Horney One'…" Eir teased good-naturedly.  
  
I glared at Eir, "I know he's Buffy's to play with. I have no intentions of trying to keep him to myself…. You don't screw with destiny after all…"  
  
"All we have to do is insert Angel's name into the watcher lineage," De suggested excitedly, ignoring Eir and I, "And every other decade we could do a glamour to age him and send him on sabbatical to die…"  
  
"We are **NOT** killing Angel!" Eir and I roared in unison.  
  
"Of course not!" De said in disgust, "You didn't let me finish! I'd never **REALLY** kill Angel…"  
  
I looked at her suspiciously. In reality, I wondered if De wouldn't be the first of us to seriously consider offing Angel. She had lingering issues, both with his behavior prior to the coup as well as with his dent-y forehead, which I thought could easily be made un-dent-y with a few injections of Botox… Shaking my head, I tried to concentrate on De's plan.  
  
"…But the watcher's council won't understand Angel never aging, so we'll pretend he dies and then send him back later as his own grandson to take his place…"  
  
"De," I squealed, "You're a genius! A walking, talking genius!"  
  
"That way he can watch the Watchers…"  
  
"And protect the Slayers," Eir finished sleepily, nodding her head in agreement, "Can we go to bed now?"

***  
  
TBC...  
  
And, finally, our apologies today to:  
--'Good cop' and 'Bad Cop' for the poor impersonation (imitation *is* the sincerest form of flattery, no matter how lackluster the performance!)  
--Circus freaks everywhere  
--Skinny, big boobed bitches (otherwise known as 'the beautiful people'), who are *not* as bad as people think they are... Really!  
--Those who worship at the altar of St. Cordy, we hope our de-throning of her does not cause too much emotional scarring  
--Feminists everywhere who hate it when strong, powerful women are called "The Girls"  
  
...We're sorry! ;o)  
  
  



	8. Moving On

Title: Destiny Denied, Chapter Eight of ?  
Author(s): Specks, Nina, and Ky feedback to the   
Rating: This chapter is PG-13.  
Summary: AU, folks... Everyone has a destiny, even though Buffy and Angel have long been denied theirs. A changing of the guard causes history to be rewritten and proves that, in the end, no one (yes, Joss and Marti, we're looking at you!) can alter what is destined to come to pass...   
Spoilers: None, that we could think of…  
Disclaimers: Brace yourselves, folks, this may come as a shock to some of you: We are of sound minds, which means, by default, that we are *not* Marti or Joss or David Greenwalt. As a matter of fact, we're not any one (three) in any way involved with the shows, the networks, the production companies, the actors, their agents... yada, yada, yada… We're just some B/A fans, having a little fun with these characters while their owners are off making money with them.  
Distribution: FF.net, these lists, Nina's http://www.concordia-discors.com, and Speck's site (eventually).  
  
Ky thanks no one, but herself, cause she's sort of Cordy-like this week.  
  
Nina thanks the malevolent hedgehogs, the head squealer for adding years to her therapy, and whatever gods may be for having such an... interesting... sense of humor: Maybe someday, they'll clue her in on a joke or two, and TMB's loyal feederbackers: for taking the time to read and comment on our insanity  
  
Specks thanks her umbrella carrying penguin, not to be confused with other non-umbrella carrying penguins.  
  
We apologize to the English, because, well… they're English, companionless souls out, lisping alpha males, sociopaths, the power hungry, and anyone actually expecting Buffy to appear within the first dozen or so chapters of any story ;o  
  
***  
The vampire picked up the shell of a dead locust, and crumbled it into a brass bowl that rested on top of his oak desk. He added petals from a full-blown rose and crushed them into the crumbled insect's body until they made a paste and rolled the paste into a ball. With careful hands, he inserted the ball into a small burlap sack, and tied it around his neck with twine. Quickly, he stuffed it under his shirt and closed his eyes while chanting:  
  
"Hollow shell, crumbling down  
Encase the Eternal all around  
When approached by Watchers now  
Mask my youth with an Elderly brow."  
  
With a sigh, he looked into a hand mirror. A wrinkled countenance peered back at him. It was odd having a reflection after all these years. It was odder still to see how he'd look if he aged… And he was beginning to realize he wanted to age- a human soul wasn't meant to exist without companionship… He shook off the dismal thoughts. He was making a difference… He had saved many innocents over the years; maybe even balancing out some of the evil his demon had wrought.  
  
"England," the brooding vampire sighed to himself as he placed the mirror on the smooth golden oak- soon he'd leave this dreary land. For some reason the PTBs thought it was a good idea to send an Irish Catholic Vampire to the Watcher's Council in England… So many things about this project had made him uncomfortable, he didn't know where to begin… In addition, it was foggy, dismal, rained a lot and he was pretty sure he gave the current slayer a "bad vibe", as Whistler would say- The ring didn't mask his vampiric nature. And he missed his leather pants, which he couldn't very well wear here, but at least he didn't have to wear tweed.   
  
"Ahem, Mr. Donovan," Fiona interrupted politely, "Don't we have an appointment to patrol this evening?"  
  
"Of course, Fiona," Angel answered trying to sound Watcher-like and, he shuddered to himself, English, "I was planning to accompany you on your patrol tonight…"   
  
Especially tonight. It was her eighteenth birthday and he was not going to let her patrol alone in her weakened condition.  
  
The masked predator rose and slipped on an over-coat. The slayer, usually nervous in his presence, seemed completely at ease. She turned absentmindedly towards the door and bumped into the frame.  
  
"Ouch!" she shouted in pain.  
  
Angel raised an eyebrow, "Did that hurt you?"  
  
"Did ya miss me hollering 'ouch'?" the slayer answered incredulously, "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, hasn't it has been an peculiar week for me?"  
  
"Are you all right to patrol?" he asked, hoping she'd realize she wasn't.  
  
"Aren't I the Slayer?"  
  
"That really isn't an answer…"  
  
"REALLY!" the redhead huffed as she spun and walked out the door, unceremoniously knocking into the doorknob this time.  
  
Maybe she'll knock herself unconscious, the vampire thought hopefully as he followed her out of his office.  
  
***  
  
The waxing moon hung in a thin slice overhead as they passed through the cemetery's stone gates. Angel's could barely suppress a growl, as the hair on his neck rose. The air hummed with power, and he could feel the presence of a large a cadre of vampires close by- the slayer was oblivious.   
  
The red head sighed contentedly, "It doesn't seem as if we'll be busy tonight, does it? Do you want to go home?" she asked as she turned away from him.  
  
His eyes flashed yellow, as a fledgling slipped between them and grabbed the slayer from behind. She started in surprise and tried to flip the inexperienced vampire over her back, tried being the operative word.   
  
The vamp stayed firmly in place.  
  
Fiona's eyes grew wide in horror as the unholy creature's extended canines descended towards her jugular. It was time for Angel to earn his keep.   
  
He crossed the few feet between him and the slayer before the vamp's teeth ever touched her flesh. With a flick of his wrist, the stake became firmly embedded in the vamp's heart, and it shattered into dust. One down, five more to go.  
  
The slayer fell to her knees, gasping for air, as five vamps approached in demonic visage.  
  
"Well, well, well, it looks as if the slayer isn't as almighty powerful as she thought…" the alpha male of the pack lisped through his teeth as he sauntered towards Angel's charge.  
  
"No, but I am," Angel hissed softly, challenging the leader.  
  
"What do we have here? An overly zealous Watcher, or something else…"  
  
Angel didn't wait for him to figure it out. With a front snap kick, the male's head went back leaving his chest unprotected. The lead was quickly dust.  
  
"Anyone else interested in fighting an overly zealous Watcher?" Angel growled as the pack turned and ran, "I guess not."  
  
"How did you do that?" came a trembling voice from behind him.  
  
He turned to the crumpled girl who stared up at him from her knees. Her eyes were wide in fear and surprise as she watched him in disbelief.  
  
"I am a Watcher, after all. It isn't as if I'm not trained to fight."  
  
"If you're trained to fight like that, why do they need Slayers?" she grumbled under her breath.  
  
"I'm one in a million," he answered with a smirk as he helped the Slayer off the ground, "And I think you ought to go home and get some rest; you don't seem quite yourself tonight."  
  
"Do ya think?" she grumped as they limped home.  
  
***  
He had been summoned to the council's library at 3:00 a.m., which was no shock to him. It was a surprise to the Council that their slayer had made it home alive. He smirked grimly to himself as he followed a younger watcher to the main library, where the rest of the group waited. He was verbally accosted before he could pass through the doorway.  
  
"Mr. Donovan, you are being put on permanent sabbatical for interfering with our Slayer's initiation…"  
  
"You mean assassination," Angel jabbed back as he leaned back casually against the doorframe.   
  
"Sending a cadre of vampires to kill the slayer is insane!"  
  
"I object to your terms," William Travers roared, "It is a test…"  
  
"A test…" Angel snidely sniped.  
  
"Yes, a test. You come from the old school of thought, that slayers were to be revered. Your school of thought has gotten us nowhere in our war against darkness! We have realized that Slayers are simply weapons. We are in control now, Mr. Donovan; because of your lineage, we cannot dismiss you, but consider yourself retired."  
  
Angel stared into the eyes of a sociopath, and then around the room of power hungry men who followed him.  
  
"I think the darkness has more control than you could possibly imagine," he said softly as he turned and left. 


	9. Getting Closer

Title: Destiny Denied, Chapter. We have NO idea which chapter this is. 10? 11? Who was responsible for remembering which chapter we were on???  
  
Author(s): Specks, Nina, and Ky  
  
Rating: This chapter is PG-13 (for language/violence) but there will, Ky hastens to assure, be NC-17 in upcoming (and clearly labeled) sections.  
  
Summary: AU, folks... Everyone has a destiny, even though Buffy and Angel have long been denied theirs. A changing of the guard causes history to be rewritten and proves that, in the end, no one (yes, Joss and Marti, we're looking at you!) can alter what is destined to come to pass...  
  
Spoilers: This *is* AU, but there are references to AtS and BtVS through out the story.  
  
Disclaimers: Brace yourselves, folks, this may come as a shock to some of you: We are *not* Marti or Joss or David Greenwalt. As a matter of fact, we're not any one(three) in any way involved with the shows, the networks, the production companies, the actors, their agents... yada, yada, yada. We're just some B/A fans, having a little fun with these characters while their owners are off making money with them.  
Feedback is a welcome thing and can be sent to: themochabitcas@aol.com  
Authors Notes:  
Thanks  
  
We would like to thank the three people that actually read this story, DB for the lost weight (it looks good on ya' sweet cheeks, now work on that six pack!), paper clips for their invaluable service in the organization of paper, Post Its for their multi coloredness, Nina's minions for bringing Friday and Bubblicious for making bubbles so. licious. Individually, Specks thanks coffee, The Wondrous Penguin (who is real, much to everyone's surprise. ::waves at Penguin::), the eye candy in creative writing class (clearly, Ky is having a bad influence on Specks), Ky for her wacky. yet sage advice. Guess you could call it advice, or doesn't she seem to be SMOKING something LIKE sage? ::hides:: Which she never does. Ever. OK, once back in college... FINE. Seven or eight times in college. OK, she went out with a dealer... It explains a lot, doesn't it? ::runs away:: Nina would like to thank Ky, Specks, and Jade for cushioning the blow as she fell out of the fandom, the x-over writers on the web who've eased the transition, the BEACH, and especially thanks B, for being so tolerant. Ky thanks Diet Coke, Specks for letting her live vicariously through her, Cosmopolitans and Nina for Live Journal, calm advice about tags, life saving skills, and being. Perfect! Finally, Ky would like to invoke the Amber Alert system. The Hot Half Nekkid Jogger Man (HHNJM) that runs past her work place daily has been missing for a week. Please, if anyone sees HHNJM wandering the streets with a lost look on his face, contact Ky at Kyria2b@aol.com. She'll be sure to come pick him up. (  
  
CHAPTER NINE (Lucky for us Nina is on the ball!)  
  
("Would you like anything else to drink?" the blond stewardess asked sweetly.  
  
Angel ignored the hint of black lace peeping out as the stewardess 'unconsciously' fingered another button of her white blouse open. Instead he kept careful eye contact and nodded no. A look of disappointment flashed across the blond's face before being covered by a plastic smile. Red flush crept up her slim neck and with flustered movements, the woman moved on to the next row of seats. The vampire scowled, lines creasing a forever, youthful brow momentarily as a voice whined close by.  
  
"She didn't even ASK if I wanted one," Wesley grumbled, "Quite unprofessional."  
  
Angel stifled a groan and closed his eyes while deftly pressing the buttons to recline the chair as far back as possible. This equaled a mere two inches of recline in this metal tube of death. not that anything could really hurt him, he mused as he noted that long legs were not an asset in air travel. neither was the idiot next to him. For the first time, buying one of those personal compact disc contraptions seemed to be an attractive idea. It would effectively drown out the droning in his ear. Thanks be to the Powers that his years of meditation skills began to kick in, and the soul worn vampire tried to mentally prepare for meeting the new slayer letting Wesley's voice fade into the background.  
  
It was always such a challenge hiding a vampiric nature from the naturally astute warriors. And this one was reputed to be the strongest in history. Christ.  
  
Such a strong warrior would undoubtedly be a large, finely tuned machine. Images of an unattractive muscle bound German slayer made a dreaded appearance in the ½ demon's consciousness as he wondered how ugly she'd be. Kendra was unusually attractive for a slayer. Typically, slayers were large, androgynous creatures. something like a female Henry the 8th. and there was no way to make a female Henry look good.  
  
".I do not understand why Trevor's thought it would be hard to win the loyalty of the current slayer. They are tools of the council. She will simply do as she is told," Wesley's nasally British twang interrupted; as the oblivious man missed Angel's attempts to sleep.  
  
"Don't underestimate a slayer, they are crafty creatures," Angel growled pushing a hand impatiently through tousled hair.  
  
"They are tools, and female tools at that!"  
  
The Power's Warrior choked back a snort not wanting to explain the double entendre that brought uncharacteristic laughter from a stoic façade.  
  
After all, he mused, a creature such as himself didn't deserve to laugh. His lack of control cost Kendra her life. One brief showing of his true face, and Kendra was dead. Maybe the moron sitting next to him was punishment. Because of his 'family's' past laxness with slayers, the Council had sent Wesley Wyndem Price along to keep an eye on things. To put it plainly, Price was a nark. What the Brit couldn't understand was Angel's newly open wound would make for an even more "lax" Watcher than his so called ancestors. Kendra's face flashed through his mind, he tried to shut out the images of the fallen slayer without success.  
  
The sun had lorded over the soft, blue sky of Jamaica it's golden fingers curving into every nook and cranny of the small paradise. Thousands of scantily clad beach goers stretched long lean limbs as they lounged lazily by the clear blue waters. Excited children played with their counter parts, splashing towards shallows only to quickly turn retreating from surging surf. back to more familiar landscape. Career women on vacation sashayed leisurely along the boardwalks and nearby restaurants, shopping and taking in the sights. Reggae music could be heard blasting in every corner as the natives plied their trade in jewelry and tacky souvenirs. And a vampire lay at ease for the first time in many years, soaking up the rays. After all this time, he was beginning to believe he made a difference.  
  
All in all Jamaica was every vacationer's small idea of paradise. That is until they ventured out unescorted at night. Night was a time when vampires stalked their prey; pouncing on relaxed vacationers. The only thing preventing the small island from becoming a vampiric breeding ground was the Slayer. Kendra to be more specific; and she was the reason Angel was now on said beach wearing nothing more than a Speedo.  
  
Kendra had survived the Cruciamentum upon her eighteenth birthday, just as the other slayer Buffy had. The only reason the Council had left Buffy alive after she'd passed was because they were banking on the fact that Kendra wouldn't make it. But both slayers had survived, and the council was furious. Instead of taking the loss in stride, they had hired the Order of Taraka. Even now he counted his blessings that he'd decided to go to *that* particular meeting. It was the only reason he had been forewarned of the Council's actions. The minute he'd heard, Angel had packed his bags and boarded the next flight to Jamaica. He'd been here three days now and not a peep from the order. That worried him, he knew that they would strike soon, and it was making him jumpy.  
  
Beneath half closed eyes, Angel tracked the movements of the Slayer. It was incredibly convenient for him that the Kendra lived by the beach, easier hunting grounds he supposed. But whatever the reason, it allowed him to keep an eye on her, considering his vampiric sight and hearing. Right now the Slayer was asleep, at her most vulnerable. It was the best time for the Order to strike, and he was determined that when they did, they would have more than a Slayer as their opposition.  
  
A sudden unmistakable flicker of reflected steel caught his eye. So, it was time. The assassins were half a block away, and Angel was determined to get to Kendra before they did. Rising he grabbed the duffel bag at his side and disappeared into a nearby shrubbery. Three seconds later he reemerged, this time wearing his signature black leather. Beneath his duster was a literal arsenal. Angel arrived at the beach house just in time to witness three assassins enter the house.  
  
Kendra was awakened from her slumber by the faint sound of footsteps. Still groggy, she barely rolled out of the way as a katana sliced the bed spread where her body had been a second ago. Coming fully awake, she took in her surroundings. Six blue skinned demons with dead eyes stared back at her from beneath black cloth. For a breath everything stopped. then hell broke loose.  
  
Punching, kicking and literally fighting for her life, Kendra made it to the door, only dimly aware that in the midst of it all someone else had joined her fight. Back to back with her mysterious savior, she fended off razor kabanas with a wooden bedpost she'd ripped off. Whirling the post like a well-constructed staff, she held her own against three assassins. She knew she would be overwhelmed soon, for the odds were definitely against her, but she refused to give up. Thrusting, punching and kicking, she felt a sudden rush of euphoria as she saw the door. Freedom! Escape! It was so close, just a meter away. Then she made the mistake of looking back, at the face of her comrade in arms. What she saw shocked her, fangs protruded from a ridged forehead of a demon she hunted every night, but it was day. The shock of it was enough to slow her down for just a second. A second was all the assassins needed. With a practiced flick of its wrist, the demon nearest to Kendra sent her to oblivion.  
  
Angel watched in horror as his charge fell. In that moment time seemed to go both too fast and too slow. Too fast for him to save her, and too slow for him to escape the prolonged agony on her face before it froze in death. With a roar of defiance, Angel ran towards his fallen Slayer, cutting down any and all that stood in his way. The bones of the murderers cracked as he broke necks and ripped off heads. All without any acknowledgment of what he was doing. In his mind there was only one goal, to get to his slayer. Even though he knew deep down that it was a hopeless cause, a disbelieving part of him could not comprehend what had already happened.  
  
Suddenly time retuned to its proper pace and everything seemed to speed up. Upon reaching Kendra's side, he was confronted the true impact of his actions. Kendra was dead and it was all his fault. Had she but continued forewarned without looking back everything would have been fine, yet even then in that split second when their eyes had met, Angel had known all was lost. Had known that the only reason she had hesitated was because of him. It did not matter that she would have been dead anyway without him. The only thing he could comprehend was that he had failed. Failed in his scared duty, failed to fulfill his destiny, failed Kendra.  
  
In the silence of the night, Angel had mourned the lost slayer. Yes, he had destroyed every one of her killers but it would not be enough. Cradling the still human in his arms, Angel brought her to the beach. Placing he on a wooden raft, he let it sail. She'd always wanted to see the world; her watcher's diaries had reported that. And perhaps if the wind was merciful it would sail her to her destination. Standing there in dawn's twilight, Angel came to a decision. The Watcher's Council had done this, and there was no doubt in his mind that with this success they would use the Order to destroy the other Slayer. They needed to be stopped, and he was determined he would be the one to do it. It was the least he could do, to give Kendra Justice. Taking a photo out of his pocket, he glanced at the image of himself forty years older. His "father". It seems it was time to return to talk the Council into letting Angel Donovan's son to take his rightful place in Sunnydale as the slayer's new watcher.  
  
Apologies We apologize to underused botanical terms (acrogenous in particular), androgynous creatures, double entendres for the bad one used in the story, narks, who have a function in society as annoying as it may be, natives who sell tacky souvenirs, blond stewardesses, any man that has been sent to do a woman's job, females whom NEVER should be referred to as tools, trolls for getting compared to Snyder, anyone who has ever let the nice young men in clean white suits take them away, the fuddys and the duddys, the mice who really rule the world, whoever's really elaborate dream of someone's house pet this life is and finally for the negative way in which German women were portrayed. Sorry Grandma, I can still come for Easter Dinner. Right? Right??? 


	10. The Breast Fixation of Irish Seers

Title: Destiny Denied, Chapter 10  
  
Author(s): Specks, Nina, and Ky  
  
Rating: This chapter is PG-13 (for language/violence) but there will; Ky hastens to assure, be NC-17 in upcoming (and clearly labeled) sections.  
  
Summary: AU, folks... Everyone has a destiny, even though Buffy and Angel have long been denied theirs. A changing of the guard causes history to be rewritten and proves that, in the end, no one (yes, Joss and Marti, we're looking at you!) can alter what is destined to come to pass...  
  
Spoilers: This *is* AU, but there are references to AtS and BtVS through out the story.  
  
Disclaimers: Brace yourselves, folks, this may come as a shock to some of you: We are *not* Marti or Joss or David Greenwalt. As a matter of fact, we're not any one(three) in any way involved with the shows, the networks, the production companies, the actors, their agents... yada, yada, yada. We're just some B/A fans, having a little fun with these characters while their owners are off making money with them.  
Feedback is a welcome thing and can be sent to: themochabitcas@aol.com  
Authors Notes:  
Thanks  
  
We would like to thank the three people that actually read this story. Individually, Specks thanks The Wondrous Penguin, the color purple and her pet Suzuki. Nina would like to thank Whatever Gods May Be that class is done! Ky thanks God/dess for the Hot Half Nekkid Jogger Man's (HHNJM) sweaty return.  
  
CHAPTER TEN  
  
Mr. Doyle." a small girl at the front of the class whined while squirming in her chair. Red pigtails hung in braids down her shoulders as the child repeated her question in a high pitched, pleading voice.  
  
Alan Francis Doyle smiled in amusement at the eight year old while unconsciously wiping chalk dust on thighs of his black pants, "Yes, Amy, you can go to ta' bathroom."  
  
Green eyes, framed by a fair, freckled face, grew large, "How did you know I had to go? Can you read my mind?" she asked in astonishment.  
  
Doyle's grin got larger as he leaned against the chalkboard and filled out a pass, "It seems that sometimes I can."  
  
Abruptly, the gentle Irishman went to his knees, the pass slips dropping like falling leaves from his hands to the floor as his mouth opened in a silent scream. Usually clear blue eyes suddenly went white before they fluttered shut and he crumpled in a heap. Chaos erupted throughout the classroom, but the poor man didn't see it. Twenty third-graders, shouted in fear. one ran out the door, intent on getting help, but Doyle was unaware of the activities around him.  
  
Instead of seeing twenty anxious little faces staring with growing hysteria, the half demon saw a short, luscious blond relaxing on a slate colored, over stuffed chair. He gulped in admiration at the tiny legs peeking out from her skirt that barely covered anything, and couldn't help himself from staring fixedly at her white see through top and creamy lace bra. She absent-mindedly twisted a ringlet of strawberry blond hair around her index finger as he appraised her. Slowly, he looked up and found himself drowning in her stormy gray eyes.  
  
"I'll let it go this time, cause I know all Irishmen have a breast fixation, but in the future, please refrain from staring so obviously at my chest."  
  
Doyle shook his head in embarrassment and looked away. glancing around; he was overwhelmed by the opulence of the beautiful room that was littered with massive silk covered pillows. His attention wandered back to the beauty before him, and his eyes were drawn again to her marvelous chest. After all, she didn't say he couldn't look at all, just not so obviously.  
  
"Alan Francis Doyle, you are having a vision from the Powers That Be," the blonde's mellow, womanly voice lilted, "You would do well to pay attention to what I'm saying."  
  
He nodded and straightened up as he stopped trying to figure out what unearthly power was keeping that skirt down, this had to be a dream. the Powers would never be interested in as simple a man as himself. well simple half man.  
  
"You sell yourself short, my darling Brachen; we have good reason to be interested in you. You are pure of heart, no matter what you believe of yourself, and we need your help," she paused and looked behind him as if someone he couldn't hear was talking to her, "All right, I'll get to the point, can't have those children running amuck, now can we. We need you to go to Sunnydale, California and act as our seer for the current Vampire Slayer. You have free will, and can refuse our request."  
  
At this the blonde's forehead wrinkled in confusion, as if the mere mention of someone refusing her was beyond her comprehension. She glanced behind him again and rolled her expressive eyes in annoyance. He turned and saw two equally beautiful, but completely different, women behind him. An impossibly short, dark 'woman' with blue/black hair and opaque black eyes impatiently twirled a gold dagger on a finger as she glared at the blond behind him. Next to her stood a red head whose luminescent, pale skin seemed to glow with ethereal beauty. Her long red hair was pulled back into a sensible ponytail and Doyle's fingers itched to let it loose and see it cascade down her shoulders in crimson waves. Oddly enough, he noticed a short blond man in flip flops and a garish Hawaiian shirt sneak up and whisper something into the redhead's ear. The short man's presence amongst these three beauties was the most surprising thing about this vision so far.  
  
"Focus Alan!"  
  
His head snapped forward and he tried to concentrate.  
  
"Go to Sunnydale's High School library this afternoon, as soon as you're able to smooth things over here, and speak with Rupert Giles. Tell him the Powers sent you to assist The Scoobies and The Slayer as a seer from The Powers That Be."  
  
The "woman's" voice faded and he was suddenly aware of the Principal shaking his shoulders as she called out his name.  
  
"Mr. Doyle. Alan!"  
  
He shook his head; trying to focus on anything. sluggishly the world began to come together. He found himself flat on his back with an ugly ache throbbing through his skull. Groaning, he pulled himself up into a sitting position, suddenly aware of the crying children surrounding him. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he thought to himself.  
  
"Are you all right?" the elderly African American woman asked in concern.  
  
He nodded, afraid to speak.  
  
"I think you should take the afternoon off, Alan," she said with concern, "Maybe make a doctor's appointment."  
  
He nodded in agreement, "Thanks Martha, I think I'll take you up on that."  
  
With her assistance, he came to a standing position and headed for the door.  
  
"I'll take over here, just tell the secretary, James, to call in a sub for the afternoon. and Mr. Doyle, feel better."  
  
He smiled grimly at his mentor as he headed towards the door, "I will, and thanks."  
  
---  
  
He meandered through the crowd of students that had filled the Sunnydale High School halls as he headed towards the library. He was probably crazy; at least he hoped he was probably crazy. Getting tapped on the shoulder by the Powers was no easy task. It usually meant a short miserable period of total servitude followed by a painful death. That was if you didn't get sucked into some alternate hell dimension. Speaking of short and miserable, the little troll of a man Snyder hadn't pointed him in the right direction after grilling him for fifteen minutes concerning why he wanted to see Rupert Giles. the little bastard.  
  
After getting directions from a seductive creature that in no way could be a student, he prayed anyway that she wasn't a student. Cordelia, a good Irish name for the dark eyed woman he fully intended on doing terrible dirty things too. he grinned to himself as he approached the swinging doors slowly, wondering how he was going to explain a vision from the Powers to a complete stranger. He hoped to God the guy wouldn't call the little men in white jackets to take him away.  
  
Most humans would. Heck, before his 21st birthday, he'd have been the first in line to dial the number. But that was before his "initiation" into the world of demons. He shuddered at the memory; it was a terrifying surprise to have your face seemingly explode for no apparent reason only to be told by your mother that you were an extremely late bloomer. How embarrassing.  
  
With a deep breath, he pushed the library doors open, for a moment he stopped and stared at the tiny blond goddess-like creature kicking the shit out of a dummy used in self-defense classes. Power radiated from the petite creature, causing him to quickly decide she must be the Slayer. And where there were Slayers, there were Watchers. Hopefully she could lead him to Rupert Giles.  
  
---  
  
The cold, bubbling, sweet, brown liquid danced across her tongue as she swallowed great gulps. With Diet Coke grasped firmly in one hand, Buffy wiped the sweat out of her eyes.  
  
It had been a tough few months.  
  
What with her mother kicking her out of the house, being wanted for arrest for the kidnapping of her Watcher (which Giles had quickly cleared up after they saved him from being tortured by Dru, Spike and Darla), stopping Acathla from opening by sending Darla through a portal to a demon dimension, and most recently, being stripped of her powers by her errant watcher for some twisted vampire test, she had no time to study. Not that she actually WOULD have studied, but she didn't even have time to PRETEND she was studying. Somehow or the other, she was getting by with a very low C average, she thought proudly.  
  
Damn straight she was proud. It was all that paying attention in class...  
  
OK, she didn't REALLY pay attention in class and she was wondering which deity (De!) she had to thank for the low C average when she noticed a short, VERY cute, wild-eyed man standing in front of the brown, swinging, library doors. She studied him while he roughly rubbed his brow as if he had a ferocious headache. Blood-shot, curious, blue eyes zoned in on her and her hands as he stepped forward. Self-consciously she tried to smooth her sloppy ponytail back from her face before arranging her wrapped-for- beating-the-little-foam-man-Giles-kept-for-her-to-practice-staking-in-the- library hands behind her back. As the cute, soon to be upgraded to gorgeous, man stepped forward, he uttered five words that seemed to get her into trouble, "You must be the Slayer."  
  
"How does everyone figure that out?" she squeaked in surprise. God, she really had to work on her stealthy skills, or lack there of.  
  
A smirk crossed his lips as he shrugged, "Ya' have a powerful aura... I'm sorry to be so abrupt, but I'm looking fer' Rupert Giles. Could ya' tell me where to find him?"  
  
Her mossy, green eyes narrowed as she studied the man before her. He was a few inches taller than the petite warrior, and stood in a relaxed slouched with his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his short black, leather coat. She was keenly aware that his "relaxed stance" wasn't and the scent of fear clung to him like expensive cologne. Taking a step backwards, she unconsciously began the predatory action of circling her "prey". As she walked around the attractive man, her slayer senses didn't really tingle, but she detected something "off" about him: He didn't feel exactly human. Before she could launch into a verbal query about his seeming demonic origin, Giles stepped out of his office.  
  
"Buffy, did I hear someone asking for me?"  
  
She sighed as she turned to Giles, all the while keeping watch on the attractive accent guy out of the corner of her eye. They were expecting two new watchers, in all of their ineffective glory, to burst through the doors at any minute, and the stress was getting to them both. After Giles' almost too late gesture of independence from the council on her eighteenth birthday, their relationship was strained... She glanced in concern at the weariness etched across his face; the stress was getting to him and his worry made her heart ache.  
  
Christ, one Watcher was difficult enough to take care of, she wasn't sure she could take TWO more. She crinkled her forehead thoughtfully... Giles wasn't exactly a watcher anymore now that he'd been fired. She was still a bit put out that he'd been in on the whole stripping her of her power's fiasco, but she trusted him more than she could ever imagine trusting the two new fuddy duddy's that were coming to take his place.  
  
God, TWO of them.  
  
"BUFFY!"  
  
Her head jerked up as Giles bellowed her name for what could have been the third time by the look on his face- she must have spaced out there for a second. His blue-gray eyes looked her over with concern, and he walked quickly across the room to where she stood. He stopped a good three feet away, a very appropriate distance to stand away from his female charge, and gave her a once over. Seeing that she wasn't harmed in anyway, he turned to the newcomer.  
  
"I'm sorry, we haven't been introduced," Giles intoned in his very proper, very English way, "I'm Rupert Giles, and you?"  
  
Doyle grinned hopelessly as he gestured to a chair, "You may want to sit down for this..."  
  
Seeing that neither the Slayer nor her Watcher were about to take his advice, he went on with his introduction.  
  
"My name is..." he paused for a moment as he made the decision to edit his annoying name to, "Doyle. I was tapped on the shoulder by the Powers That Be. They sent me to assist your Scoobies and the Slayer as a seer..."  
  
The brief look of surprise on the Watcher's face, and the blank, deer-in- headlights look on the Slayer's, weren't the violent screeches for the men in little white jackets he'd been expecting.  
  
"Indeed," Giles said as he absent-mindedly removed his glasses and began to polish them.  
  
Silence hung in the air for long, slow seconds as the slayer appraised her Watcher's intent interest with his specks. She defensively arranged her arms across her chest and quirked an eyebrow up in seeming annoyance, "What the hell are The Powers That Be?"  
  
TBC! It has been said before, but we'll say it again: Fire bad, Feed back pretty.  
  
Apologies We apologize if we offended any of the following: Trolls for getting compared to Snyder, anyone who has ever let the nice young men in clean white suits take them away, the fuddys and the duddys for getting compared to watchers, the mice who really rule the world, alternate hell dimensions which can't be as bad as advertised and wild eye'd Irish Men for insinuating they might be a tad bit fixated on the chest area of women (there isn't scientific proof of the fixation. YET). 


	11. Chapter 11 Fear of Driving

Destiny Denied, Chapter 11 By Specks, Nina, and Ky

* * *

Never one to spend a penny more than absolutely necessary, or give much thought to the comfort of two junior council members, Quentin Travers and the Travel Department of the Watcher's Council had passed on booking a direct flight from Gatwick or Heathrow and had instead booked a circuitous route with stops and changes of plane in New York City, Cincinnati, and Salt Lake City before ultimately terminating at LAX. A car had been provided for their use and, after fighting with the airline about their lost luggage, and with each other about who would be driving, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce and Angel had been on their way to Sunnydale, with the understanding that their luggage would be delivered to their motel upon its finding.

The drive to Sunnydale had been an experience unto itself; one the ancient vampire was desperately determined never to repeat. Already in a righteous snit about their lost luggage, the traffic in LA, coupled with the driving on the 'wrong' side of the road and sitting on the 'wrong' side of the car, had turned the already high-strung Wesley into a ranting, reckless vehicular menace. As the conformist young Watcher careened from lane to lane, Angel sat rigidly upright in his seat, frequently lamenting the luck that had deserted him when he lost the coin toss to determine who would be driving and toying with the ring that, though rendering him invincible, did remarkable little to quell his discomfort as he watched the scenery and other cars fly past through the window.

So, after a day of constant travel, he was remarkably thankful to have arrived at their destination: The Hellmouth.

Shaking his head in disbelief, he carefully set about disentangling himself from the seatbelt and stepping out of the ridiculously compact vehicle. He'd never been happier to feel dirt underneath his meticulously polished shoes. As he emerged from the coupé, Angel shielded his eyes against the bright California sun and took a deep, relieved breath before he began to survey the school before him.

Although it looked, with its well-maintained landscaping and masses of milling teenagers, like any normal high school, he could feel the malevolence lurking just beneath the surface—a tangible evil that made the little hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention and the demon within him howl its frustration.

"Well, we ought go introduce ourselves to our charge," Wesley suggested, obviously anxious to meet the Slayer.

"I suppose so," Angel agreed with a heavy sigh, reluctant to face another Slayer so soon after the debacle in Jamaica that still weighed heavily on his conscience. Despite his lingering reservations, he followed Wesley toward the school… and the next undertaking the Powers had tasked him with.

* * *

Next Part

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	12. Chapter 12 Bad Puppy

Destiny Denied, Chapter 12 

By Specks, Nina, and Ky

* * *

"So, my good man, how do you propose to approach our erstwhile charge and our former colleague?" Wesley inquired his hands tucked quite properly within the front two pockets of his gray tweed suit. He was standing stiffly, back ramrod straight as was per watcher conduct code. Looking down his nose at his partner, Wesley shuddered at Angel's posture. Against the backdrop of the shadowy high school, Angel was leaning languidly at the hand railing, playing with his pocket watch.

It irked him to no end that this poor model of a watcher had been sent along to correct any blunders he may make due to his lack of experience. As though HE, Wesley Wyndaham Pryce, needed any sort of guidance on his duties as Watcher. Bah! Ludicrous! Granted Angel was descended from a line of watcher far more prestigious than he, but it did not mean Angel was superior. It was clear the he, Wesley, was of far better caliber of watcher. One had but simply to look at the two of them tonight to determine that.

Angel's shirt was un-tucked and hanging an untidy mess; he had the sleeves rolled up, AND he was wearing LEATHER pants. He, on the other hand, had pressed his suit an hour before they'd ventured out. His hair was impeccably groomed, and every article of clothing was in its proper place. Wesley smiled in satisfaction as he surveyed himself in the reflection of his pocket watch; he was most assuredly the superior between he and Angel. After all, one didn't become head boy by being sloppy OR wearing leather.

There was no doubt in his mind that once The Slayer was correctly informed of her proper place, she would settle down and follow orders from him. After all, it was stated clearly in The Slayer handbook, paragraph 13, verse 6: "A Slayer would behoove herself to obey her watcher as a watcher is the warrior and the slayer the weapon which a Watcher directs to whatever end-"

"Pryce!"

Angel broke into his reveries just as he was about to delve into the more interesting aspects of The Slayer handbook. It was quite clear the more experienced watcher had been waiting or rather speaking for quite some time.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," Wesley apologized hastily in answer to the potent glare he was receiving for his inattention, "please do continue."

"I said it'll just be easier to say hi," Angel reiterated impatiently, stressing each syllable.

"I see," replied Wesley, looking ponderous. The truth of the matter was he did not see, he however, was not about to admit to such a shortcoming to someone that possessed Angel's terrible diction. Why the man quite simply refused to employ any of the civilized dialogue as befitting his watcher's status was beyond him. For an unfathomable reason, man insisted on compacting the most eloquently crafted ideals into one-sentenced idiosyncrasies.

"Bloody improper," muttered Wesley.

"What?" Angel was looking at him expectantly. Why was he looking at him expectantly? Why, a question in the proper tone hand not even been posed, not to mention the nightmare of the grammar. There was no help for it; he would simply have to clear up the conundrum.

"What exactly do you mean by 'what' Angel? Were you inquiring up on my muttering? Or was it my thought filled expression? Or was it-"

"Never mind Wesley," Angel interrupted, his patience obviously taxed, "Can we just go in?"

"Well," Wesley once again assumed his ponderous pose, "If you should ask my opinion, than certainly. However-"

"Fine, lets go," Angel once again interrupted.

The nerve of the man! The utter nerve! Angel may be senior watcher on this trip, but he, Wesley obviously had superior manners. It was because he felt the added need to employ said manners in the face of such brutish behavior, that Wesley did not object to angel's straightforward plan. Neither did he feel the need to utter an assent.

After all, it would have been rather ridiculous to reply as Angel was already through the double doors of the school. There was nothing for it. With a resigned sigh, Wesley trudged after the rapidly fading figure of his ill-mannered colleague.

Angel strode down the halls of Sunnydale high school with Wesley's lecturing voice trailing after him. With the exception of Wesley's voice everything else held an eerie quiet that was typical of such establishments after classes let out. Only every other light was lit to save electricity and the squeak of Wesley's shoes on the tiled floor echoed well into the darkness of the hall. It wasn't the sounds or the sights that alerted Angel to the presence of another, it was the smell. The air was thick with the smell of death, unnatural death, and that could only mean one thing. Vampire. Following the scent, he found himself outside of what looked to be a library entrance. Turning back, he found Wesley still babbling.

"As also per stated in The Slayer handbook, one's watcher is the commander… have you even been listening to what I have been trying to impart? Repeat to me what I just said," Wesley demanded.

Irritated by the younger watcher's idiocy, Angel opted to warn him, maybe it would shut him up, "There's something wrong."

There wasn't much more Angel could say to elaborate as Wesley quickly interrupted, "That's not what I said!"

Incensed, Wesley continued heedless of Angel's silencing motion, "You really must pay more attention to your surroundings, Angel! As state in chapter 6, verse 5 of The Watcher's handbook, "A Watcher must be ever vigilant in their duty for-"

Wesley's recitation was finished off with a high-pitched scream as a blur of red passed before him and knocked Angel to the ground. Realigning glasses thrown askew, Wesley's eyes slowly came into focus. What he saw caused him to illicit another scream from somewhere deep inside. Straddling Angel was a redhead vampire, her hands wrapped tightly around the other man's throat as she shockingly rocked her hips against Angel.

"Puppy, has been a very bad boy," she said while pouting.

Mustering all the courage he had accumulated in his few years as a Watcher, Wesley took out his Watcher handbook and smacked the vampire on the temple. Unfortunately the blow did not knock her out as he had hoped, instead he found himself suddenly under the attention of one very powerful creature. Forming fists, Wesley struggled for calm and promptly fainted.

Angel got to his feet just in time to see his attacker ready to sink her teeth into an unconscious Wesley. Mentally sneering at the fool's lack of gumption, he nevertheless thanked the PTBs for the intervention. It would make dealing with this threat a hell of a lot easier. Taking off at a run, Angel tackled his opponent, and brought the both of them crashing onto a table in what appeared to be the school library. Straddling the vampire, Angel raised the stake, but he was knocked over before he could lower the blow. Shaking his head and trying to get his bearings, Angel found his attacker to be an ordinary, brunette boy babbling at the redhead. He caught the words; yellow-crayon and found that the vampire's name was Willow.

She apparently knew the boy in life. The boy probably did not understand that this was not the Willow she appeared to be. Noting the red-haired vampire's preoccupation with the new arrival, Angel quickly grabbed a broken off table leg, and grabbed Willow around the neck. She glanced back at him in annoyance as he brought the stake down into her chest.

She gasped in surprise, and, "Bad, puppy!" were her last words.

Xander felt both grief and relief as his best friend was dusted by the strange gel-haired man. His mind couldn't begin to wrap around the fact that His Willow was nothing more than dust, so he did what Xander Harris did best. He got angry and took out that anger on the nearest person at hand. In this case, it was the man who had just dusted Willow.

"I was getting through to her!" Xander sputtered, "I didn't need your help!"

He would have continued, but Giles' very tired voice cut through his fury, "That is more than enough Xander. This man just saved your life, and ended an existence Willow would not have wished to continue."

Getting upset, Giles took off his glasses and wiped them as he continued to speak, "I apologize for my rudeness, you must be the new Watcher."

Angel nodded. Hundreds of years of being around humans had allowed him to detect the other watcher's grief under the British propriety. It would not be polite to speak as of now.

'Well then, I suppose you would wish…" the man named Giles trailed off as a redhead, identical to the one he'd just dusted save the lack of leather, walked in. Angel watched shock, wonder, and confusion chase across the old watcher's face. Then surprisingly abandoning all sense of propriety, nearly smothered the girl with his enthusiastic hug. He was preceded by an equally boisterous embrace from the boy named Xander. Making a visible effort to step away from the amazingly live girl whom Angel determined was Willow, Giles took off his glasses and wiped them once again, obviously embarrassed.

"K'…. Did you all happen to do a bunch of drugs?" The cheerful girl asked in response to the greeting.

Before anyone could speak or explain the situation, a distant scream sounded. To Angel's amazement, Wesley charged through the double doors, stake at the ready, heading towards the newly live girl. Moving quickly, Angel seized the younger watcher's collar and pulled, waiting as Wesley bucked wildly for a second or two before he realized what was going on. Letting him go once he stopped trying to murder the redhead, Angel turned to Giles.

"I'd like to apologize for my junior watcher, he still needs a bit of training. My name is Angel, and this is Wesley, we're the new watchers."

"I understand completely," replied Giles smoothly glossing over Wesley's sputtering, "as it seems I am the host, won't you have a spot of tea with me as I brief you on our situation."

"Thanks, I'd appreciate it. It would also be nice to finally meet The Slayer."

Giles looked his way, "I believe that can be arranged."

The scent of the slayer rode the wind up the stone edifice and over the lip of the mausoleum's flat roof. The dark folds of his duster billowed away from his powerful, sleek form and he was immersed in her scent – held under for a moment before he broke the surface and bathed in the essence of Her. His glower marred the perfection of his brow as he glared into the night, mahogany eyes flashing briefly gold. Grimly, he realized he could be blind and find this Buffy from the scent of her rage, spiced blood. Anxiety at the thought of meeting her thrilled through the ensouled vampire and Angel stepped easily from the roof of the two-story, stone structure, and dropped to the ground. He moved swiftly, flowing over the uneven ground and granite markers following her scent.

He came over a rise in time to see a vampire stalking a tiny, helpless-looking female, a mistake the hungry demon wouldn't live long to regret. He paused to watch her expression as she turned and spotted the other predator stalking her. Angel was fascinated at the look of beatific violence crossing her delicate features. The Slayer took a running leap over a head-stone and side-kicked the vampire in the ribs. The vamp fell face first to the ground and the tiny, blond warrior straddled it's back. Grabbing the demon by the hair, she pounded its face into the ground.

"Who turned her? Who turned Willow???"

Angel almost had a moment of pity for the vampire, when she flipped her prey over and continued pummeling it. He heard the cracking of bone as she viciously interrogated her victim. She was magnificent. Eyes glowing with uncontained rage, she continued hammering the vampire even though the he was obviously unconscious. Spattered in blood, chest heaving she pulled a stake from her sleeve and finished the vampire off.

Angel watched her raged turn to sorrow as she struggled up from the ground. Tears trembled in her wide, doe-like eyes and she gulped back a sob. Her small hand went up to cover her mouth, and she caught sight of the blood and dark matter covering her. She went to her knees, and let out a small, wretched sound before vomiting. Something clenched in his chest as he watched, and he felt compelled intercede. A moment ago, she was an avenging predator – a creature of golden violence. Now, she looked like an innocent, broken child and all he wanted to do was draw her into his arms to comfort her. Protect her.

He was surprised when she looked listlessly up and said, "Who the hell are you?"

Fisting his hands into the deep pockets of his duster, he took a calming, deep breath,  
"New Watcher."

He moved slowly forward and offered her a hand up ignoring the look of distrust she shot his way, "My name is Angel, and you must be Buffy."

Her small, warm hand grasped his, and he relished the feel of her heat. It was an electric touch, and from the look on her face, she was as surprised by it as he. Angel didn't realize how light she was, and pulled up hard enough so that she was flush against him. Enthralled by the warm press of her body, he stood in her heat for a long minute, before inner alarms went off and he stepped backwards.

She looked as helpless and confused as he felt. Angel watched as her confusion turned into something she seemed a little more comfortable with, anger. "Well, you got quite a show tonight," she said with a glare, "Nice first entry to your Watcher Diaries."

He did not answer, confused by her sudden wrath, and watched silently as she tried to wipe herself clean. A growl of frustration left her as she succeeded in smearing the blood and gore further into her skin and clothes. Tears began their silent trek down her cheeks and Angel abruptly understood. Being confronted with the savageness that was the slayer, of what she was truly capable of, had to be overwhelming. And, from her dialogue with the dusted vampire, she probably didn't know her friend was alive and well. It would be a lot for anyone to deal with.

"Willow isn't a vampire," he blurted out.

Buffy looked up at him in shock, "What?"

"Your friend Willow, she's not a vampire." Angel repeated gently, watching as the news registered.

"I saw her myself…"

Angel sighed, "You live on the hell mouth, stranger things have to have happened. Come back with me to the library and see for yourself."

She glowed with hope for a moment before turning a fierce look his way, "If you're wrong, I'm really going to be pissed."

* * *

TBC...

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